


In Destiny's Hands

by Raicheru



Series: The Wood [3]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: AU- Modern Setting Mixed with Canon Fantasy Setting, Alternate Character Origins, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon Typical Racism, Canon-Typical Violence, Destiny, Established Relationship, Geralt Wump, Insert 'No Beta' Joke Here, Jaskier | Dandelion-centric, Kidnapping, M/M, Magic, OOC Behavior based on Alternate Character Origins, “Kidnap the Bard” Newsletter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:34:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 82,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26653768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raicheru/pseuds/Raicheru
Summary: It's been three years since Jaskier entered the Wood, met the love of his life, and found out the truth about his own heritage.  He's performed his way across the Continent, singing Geralt's praises while traveling at his side on the Path.  But an invitation to the event of the decade in Cintra changes the course of both their lives.  While he tries to figure out what happened at the betrothal, Jaskier creates ties to ancient parts of the forest and starts a legacy he never imagined, all while learning a bit more about Geralt's ties to the prickly sorceress Yennefer.  Jaskier is still learning the extent of his magical abilities and he struggles to control them.  The world is changing, and he's not quite sure where his place is yet.Takes place after “Into the Wood” and “Wintering With Wolves.”
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: The Wood [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1794649
Comments: 192
Kudos: 224





	1. Opportunity of a Lifetime

**Author's Note:**

> This story takes place after “Into the Wood” and “Wintering With Wolves.” I've included references that explain some of the bigger points from the first story along the way, so it won't be a complete mystery. But you'll miss the development of Jaskier and Geralt's relationship and Jaskier's family from the first story if you skip it.
> 
> I'll be visiting familiar places and times from the books, games, and show while weaving all of it together into this universe.

Jaskier sat at a table in the tavern taking down all of the details of Geralt fighting the Selkiemore with rapt attention. There was nearly enough detail to make up for not being there in person and he had to applaud the villager's embellishments. His quill danced over the page of his notebook as he struggled to keep up with him. Then he laughed when the man said Geralt had died. Everyone in the room turned to look at him with horrified expressions on their faces. 

“Eh. He's fine,” he said with a casual wave as he finished writing the last details down. He'd been traveling with Geralt for nearly three years now and he was confident that his Witcher had prevailed. Jaskier frowned as he remembered their last conversation before Geralt had gone out to hunt the beast. It had been an argument about Jaskier staying behind, which was a fairly common occurrence. It certainly wasn't the first, and it probably wouldn't be the last. After hearing a description of how big the thing was, Jaskier kept shifting between the desire to see it in person, and the much more reasonable worry that it would immediately try to eat him. Finally, he'd relented and agreed to stay at the inn. Given his luck with monsters, the fear of being attacked wasn't completely out of the realm of possibility.

The door burst open, startling everyone, and a foul stench rolled in preceding Geralt's dripping arrival. Jaskier grinned at him and laughed at the villagers' shock. He knew what he was talking about and he almost wished he'd put money down on him coming back. After softening Geralt's surliness with a few bars from one of his most popular songs to get them paid, they retreated to the washroom. They needed to hose Geralt down and clean off the thick coating of guts that covered him. Jaskier certainly wasn't going to touch him until he was clean.

Stripping off his doublet and rolling up the sleeves of his chemise, Jaskier dumped a full bucket of hot water over Geralt's hair to rinse the worst off before rummaging around on the sideboard through the jars and bottles of scented salts and oils. “What do you say we head towards the capitol after this?” he asked casually.

Geralt tilted his head up and eyed him warily as he took a sip from his mug of ale. Jaskier knew that look and realized he'd have to tread carefully. Geralt was tired and had far less patience than usual, which was saying something. It must have been a rough fight. Jaskier was trying not to think about what he'd meant when he said he had to get the guts from the inside.

“It's just that the coast is lovely this time of year and it would be a nice change of pace from-”

“What do you want Jaskier?” Geralt interrupted him with a grumble and a flat look. 

Jaskier sprinkled a handful of scented salts into the water to cover the stench of Selkiemore before sinking to his knees beside the tub so he could cross his arms along the edge. He gave the Witcher a suggestive look. When Geralt just continued to stare at him flatly, Jaskier refused to be deterred. 

“I've been offered the opportunity of a lifetime. Imagine, if you will, sumptuous victuals from across the Continent. The sweetest wines-”

“Jaskier,” Geralt rumbled.

“Alright, alright. I've been invited to sing at Queen Calanthe's court for her daughter Pavetta's betrothal feast.” He huffed in disappointment at having his grand announcement spoiled.

“Have fun. I'll meet you in Dillingen when it's over.” Geralt started scrubbing at a stubborn patch of ichor on his arm. 

“Well, you see. It's like this-”

“How many lords want to kill you?”

“Hard to say, really. One stops keeping count eventually.” Jaskier sighed. “It's hardly my fault. When everyone assumes I sleep with their girlfriends, wives, and mothers, some of them are bound to take offense.”

“You don't exactly spend a lot of time trying to disabuse them of the notion,” Geralt grumbled. “And last month, Lady Aberdine actually did have her hand down your trousers when the Duke walked in.”

“Which I heartily tried to dissuade her from doing,” Jaskier sniffed. “She was quite insistent and had a really strong grip.”

Geralt eyed him balefully. “You have people fawning over you wherever you go. And it's hardly the first time someone has put their hands on you.” He sounded distinctly displeased by that. Jaskier pulled back a bit, with his fingers curled over the edge of the tub.

“Are you _jealous_?”

There was a heavy sigh from the Witcher as he scrubbed the last bit of Selkiemore off his arm. “No,” he growled. 

Oh, yes, he obviously was. But Jaskier was trying to get a favor out of him and he wouldn't tease him about it. At least not right now anyway. He stood and grabbed a bar of scented soap from his pack so he could wash Geralt's hair. 

“Well,” he said as he startled lathering the the ghostly white strands. “You could do a much better job of keeping suitors and misinformed cuckolds away if you came with me.”

“I have no interest in spending time at court while some hapless girl's royal womb is sold to the highest bidder.”

Jaskier grimaced at the blunt description of an event he'd been looking forward to for weeks. “But here's the rub. The queen's messenger heavily implied that my invitation was strictly plus one and that I wouldn't be welcome without you.”

“Then you're going to have to pass.”

“Geralt.” 

Geralt lazily ducked out from under his hands and rinsed his hair, slicking the water out of it and checking for bits he'd missed. “Catching the attention of monarchs can be hazardous to your health and I've never been requested by name without a reason. If she can't be bothered to hire me properly, I'm not interested in going.”

Jaskier moved back around to the front of the tub to reach out and take Geralt's wet hands, heedless of the way his sleeves trailed in the filthy water. “This is the opportunity of a lifetime. It's literally why I came into the Wood. You don't have to do anything but come with me. You can brood in the corner all night nursing a beer if you wish.” He squeezed Geralt's hands. “Please.” Jaskier could see him softening even though he was trying to resist. “Will it really be so hard to do a favor for your one true love?” he simpered.

Geralt rolled his eyes as he leaned back in the tub. “I'm going to regret this.”

“Probably,” Jaskier said brightly as he stood and leaned down over the tub to peck him on the lips. “But you'll do it because you love me.” 

When the other man closed his eyes and sighed, Jaskier knew he had him. He let out a surprised squawk when Geralt yanked him into the tub and into his lap. Jaskier was now sprawled in filthy Selkiemore water up to his shoulders and his trousers were soaked. Only his boots had been spared where his lower legs were hanging out over the edge. He was glad he'd already taken his doublet off. He didn't have time to spare to complain before Geralt claimed his mouth. 

“You're going to owe me,” Geralt murmured against his lips. 

Jaskier pulled back enough to glare at him. “I am not starting to pay off my debt in here. Just look at the state of my clothes.” He plucked at the dripping fabric, holding it up between his thumb and forefinger. Geralt's hand snuck into his sodden pants and made him completely forget about Lady Aberdine's fumbling attempts to grope him. By the time they were finished, they'd ended up drawing another bath to get completely clean before finally drying off and dressing in clean clothing. 

“So when is this unfortunate affair?” Geralt asked him as he sat on the chair in their room so Jaskier could comb the knots out of his hair.

“In two weeks, so we don't have to rush.” It wasn't that far from Hochebuz to the capitol of Cintra. “But I'd like to arrive a little early. I need to pick up my outfit and see if it needs any adjustments.”

“Two weeks isn't enough time to get to Novigrad and back.”

“As much as I would love something made my Elihal, I found a passable alternate in the Cintran capitol when we passed through a couple months ago. She's not quite as precise with a needle, but her work is good quality and worth every penny. We can head north after the feast, unless you have somewhere else you'd like to go.” He'd met Elihal, an Elven tailor, in Yspaden when he'd first come to the Wood, and they'd become friends almost immediately. After his shop had burned down, the Elf had started over in Novigrad where it was tougher going, but he had a much wider clientele.

“I don't really have a preference and I haven't heard of any contracts in any particular direction,” Geralt said. “But sometime in the next year or two, I'd like to head to Skellige.” 

Jaskier swallowed as he worked on a stubborn knot while trying not to pull Geralt's hair. “Well, have fun with that. I don't travel by boat, and unless you find some way to keep me unconscious for the trip or want me barfing all over you, I'll have to pass. I can head up to Oxenfurt and then meet you somewhere after that.” He hated suggesting it. They hadn't been apart for more than a couple of weeks at a time since Geralt had come to Lettenhove to rescue him three years ago.

Geralt turned to look up at him with a frown. “You've healed claw marks, broken bones, and a bullet wound with your music, and you're worried about a little sea sickness?”

It was true. Jaskier was a Bard with a capitol 'B'. Though he appeared mostly human, he was a mostly full blooded Elf, and his music had the power to heal. But he'd grown up thinking he was human and knew very little about his real parents. The man he'd thought was his father had genetically experimented on him to make him appear human inside and out. But once Jaskier had crossed over into the Wood, his magic had bloomed and his body had started shifting back to the way it was when he was born, with the exception of his ears which still remained rounded. He'd been able to heal himself when he'd been injured, even while asleep. He was still figuring out how to apply his magic to heal other people. But it wasn't exactly something he was comfortable testing.

“Yes, well. I guess I'd never thought of it. But aren't the islanders hostile towards outsiders? I didn't think they encouraged visitors.” 

“They'll make an exception for me. I have a friend who lives there, though I haven't seen him in years.” 

“So you finally admit that you have friends after years of denial,” Jaskier teased as he put the comb away. There was a soft knock on the door and he gathered their laundry so he could send it to be washed. Handing it to the innkeeper's wife, he passed her a couple extra coins with a smile. When he turned back to Geralt, the Witcher was frowning. “Who, pray tell, is this mythical person whom I've never heard you mention before?” Jaskier laughed when Geralt growled at him and leaned down to kiss his grumpy mouth. “Seriously, aside from your brothers, I've never heard you say anything about anyone that you spend time with except for me. And Stellan is an exception.”

Stellan was the caravan leader that had taken Jaskier into the Wood when the left Lettenhove for good. He was also a spy who had been investigating illegal genetic manipulation and ferrying information out of Lettenhove and into Redania. He'd known Geralt most of his life and thanks to him and his men, including Brett and Vaz, Geralt wasn't charged with murder after he came to Lettenhove to rescue Jaskier. It could easily have been ruled as self-defense, but Ferrant's henchman had been stabbed in the back when Geralt's sword had run him through from behind. Geralt had saved Jaskier and Vaz's lives in the process. Stellan dealt with the details while Geralt took Jaskier away to Kaer Morhen to spend the winter. 

“I met Mousesack while hunting what I thought was a feral bear. But it turned out to be. . .something else.”

“And that something else would be. . .” Jaskier prompted when he didn't continue.

“Information I promised not to share, especially with bards who have decided to sing about every little thing I do,” Geralt said as he got up to go dig through his pack. There wasn't much heat in the words, though there was annoyance that he rarely tried to hide.

“Hey,” Jaskier said, not really offended by the truth. “My music has gotten you nearly twice as many contracts as before and it has people praising your arrival instead of cursing it.”

Geralt spared him a baleful look. “Being pelted by pennies isn't nearly as romantic and generous as your song makes it out to be.”

“Yes, well. How could I know that so many people would take the lyrics literally? At least it's money and not rocks.” That village in southern Temeria had been absolutely _full_ of assholes.

“Hn.” Geralt settled into a brooding silence as he lay back on the bed with a book. 

They'd been in Hochebuz for nearly a week while Geralt had prepared for the Selkiemore. Jaskier heard word earlier that the local Trader's Guild was going to throw a banquet that evening in celebration of the beast's demise. Jaskier had graciously agreed to sing in exchange for credit to replenish their stores before they headed on. But he had yet to tell Geralt about it and was considering how to time the announcement. He'd just won a narrow victory to get him to come to the Cintran capitol for the betrothal feast and he didn't want to push his luck. But the Witcher of the hour would at least have to make an appearance.

“So. I'll be singing downstairs tonight.”

“I'm not coming down,” Geralt said without looking up.

Jaskier huffed. “Really, Geralt. Will it kill you to show up and have a drink for five minutes? All you have to do is sit there and brood. Consider it practice for the betrothal.” 

Geralt sighed. “You're going to annoy me until I agree, aren't you?”

Jaskier plopped down on the bed and leaned over Geralt's lap to brace his hand next to his hip. “I wasn't going to, but that's a great idea. Will it work?” Jaskier grinned at him when the other man glared. “Ooo. Scary face. Nobody in Cintra will dare come near me with a puss like that.”

“Why do I put up with you?” Geralt asked, his tone dry.

“Oh. Let me count the ways.” Jaskier shuffled his way up the bed and plucked the book out of Geralt's hands so he could drape himself across his chest and rest this head on his shoulder. “Does it really bother you that much?” he asked quietly. Geralt let out another long winded sigh and was quiet for a moment.

“I don't like being put on display.”

“It was never my intention to put you in the spotlight.”

“Your songs say otherwise.” 

It was Jaskier's turn to sigh. “Well. Some good has come out of it, at least. We don't spend as much time scraping by as we used to.” 

“And I thought you liked digging around in the bushes for roots and twigs for food.” Geralt's tone was still dry, but Jaskier didn't need to see the Witcher's face to know he was teasing him.

“There is absolutely nothing wrong with using my herbalism skills to bolster our diets,” Jaskier said primly. “And you're much less likely to get scurvy because of me. You're welcome.” He felt he'd won another small victory when he felt Geralt's arm slide around his waist.

“The things I do for you.”

“Oh yes, basking in adulation and taking in nearly twice the coin is such a sacrifice. You're humility astounds me.” The arm around Jaskier's waist tightened. 

“You're not going to wear that tonight, are you?” Geralt asked casually.

Jaskier pulled free and sat up to look at him before looking down at his pale green doublet and trousers. “Why, what's wrong with it?” The other man said nothing and Jaskier struggled to find whatever flaw he was referring to before he sat back and frowned. “Oh, fuck you,” he muttered as he got up. Geralt was just messing with him, but sometimes his humor was so dry, it was hard to tell he was joking at all. Jaskier looked at his reflection in the panes of the mirror on the wall and cursed again. Even knowing the comment was just a joke, It was going to bug him all night if he didn't change into his last clean outfit now. 

“I wouldn't have had to wear this one if _someone_ hadn't pulled me into their filthy bathwater earlier,” Jaskier said as he changed into a pale gray outfit with dark blue stitching. “Pray the laundress can get the Selkiemore out of the cloth or you're buying me a new doublet and trousers.”

Geralt merely grunted as he unashamedly watched Jaskier take off his clothes, his gaze appreciative. Jaskier made a face at him but didn't hide himself as he pulled on the clean clothes and settled them on his body and fussed with this hair. He settled the Leshen's heartwood pendant under his shirt and put the Rusalka's opal in an inner pocket. The Optima Mater stone Bodger had given him was tucked into an inner pocket of Jaskier's pack. Stellan had returned them after finding Jaskier's things in the underground lab after he'd been rescued from Lettenhove. Sitting on the edge of the bed to pull on his boots, he had to take a deep breath as Geralt moved up behind him and bit lightly at the back of his neck.

“We could just stay up here all night,” Geralt murmured into his skin.

“You're the worst.” Jaskier leaned back into him for a moment before drawing on what little self control he had and stood. Geralt could have held him easily if he really wanted him to stay, but he let him go. Jaskier sighed and pulled out his lute. “I've bartered for some supplies with tonight's performance. I'll tell them you're recovering from your epic battle.” He batted his eyes suggestively. “We'll pick up where we left off later.”

Heading downstairs, Jaskier launched into a first draft rendition of a ballad describing the Selkiemore fight based on the villager's enthusiastic description to the delight of the crowd. And then he moved on to some requests that included the hit that had people tossing money at Geralt wherever they went. As he made another circuit of the large, crowded room again, he caught sight of Geralt sitting in the corner by himself with a beer. Jaskier winked at him as he twirled again with a complicated string of notes that rose in a crescendo towards the climax of the song. The applause was thunderous and the ale flowed freely. He took a mug that was passed his way and toasted the crowd as coins were tucked into his pockets by generous patrons. Life was good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a completely finished work and all chapters are written and complete, so no worries that it will be left unfinished. I have at least one more short story and a third full length story that are planned after this one. And I'm getting a few ideas of where to go from there. This particular universe has taken on a mind of its own and it just keeps going.


	2. Familiar Song

Two towns over from Hochebuz, they stopped to check the local notice board before heading towards the inn for the night. A pair of townspeople passed by, chattering about a bard who had arrived the day before that was going to perform again that night. Jaskier watched them curiously and listened for a name, didn't hear one mentioned. He'd run across a handful of other troubadours during their travels, most of whom were friendly enough. And he'd visited Oxenfurt for the first time last year. Even though Oxenfurt University was in the Wood, it wasn't that much different than the modern University of Lettenhove. While Jaskier had enjoyed being around other artists, he realized classes were not for him no matter where they were held. He'd been invited to a lecture on music theory and it was rather complicated. Playing had never been that technical for him. It was something he did naturally. He'd rather travel the world and gain experience along the way.

Geralt plucked a notice off the board and nodded toward the edge of town. “I'll meet you at the inn.”

“Trying to get rid of me already?”

“It will be dark soon, and unless it's something nocturnal, I'm not going after it until first light.” 

Jaskier eyed him, trying to see if he was trying to leave him behind somehow, but his curiosity about the other bard was too great to ignore. “I'll get us a room,” he said before heading towards the inn. As he came to the door, he stopped suddenly as he heard the familiar chords of 'Gentle Wanderer' float through the thick wooden panels. His heart clenched and he suddenly felt homesick for the first time since setting foot in the Wood. He really missed Essi and she hadn't responded to any of his emails even though Stellan had assured him she was fine when he saw him again after shit went down in Lettenhove. How had her music made it across the border?

Pushing the door open, he was shocked to see a short, blonde woman with long curls trailing down over her shoulders sitting on a stool by the hearth. She wore a long, blue dress with pearls beaded in a delicate pattern along the bodice. Her voice was rich as she sang one of her first big hits from the album she'd released back in Lettenhove. Her large blue eyes widened when she saw him and a warm smile curled her full lips as she finished the last chorus of the song. Bowing to her appreciative audience, she set her lute down carefully before moving across the room towards Jaskier. He held his arms out and she ran the last few steps before wrapping her arms around him with a joyous laugh.

“Jaskier, Darling!” Essi hugged him tightly as he swung her around. But he soon realized that her laughter had turned to tears as he set her gently on her feet again. 

“Hush. It's alright,” He murmured into her hair as he held her tightly for a moment before guiding her to a nearby table to sit down on the bench. He nodded his thanks at the innkeeper who came over and silently set two mugs down before heading back towards the bar. 

“I'm sorry,” she said with a sniff, taking the clean handkerchief he handed her as she continued to hug him with her other arm. “When I heard you died, I thought. . .” She shook her head. “And then I found out you were alive, but I thought I'd never see you again. It's just. . .”

“It's okay,” he soothed. “I'm here. I'm fine.” Jaskier brushed away a lock of blonde hair that fallen over her eye. He hugged her again and held her for a moment before handing her one of the mugs and drinking from the other. He gave her a moment to regain her composure.

“I had this romantic thought that I'd magically find you again,” she said. “I had it all planned out.” Essi took a sip of her ale. “This was not how I thought it would go.”

Jaskier grinned at her. “The best laid plans will always go awry.” 

She stopped and regarded him carefully, reaching out with one of her delicate hands and traced a finger along his jaw. “It really is true,” she murmured. “When that man Stellan came to see me, I didn't quite believe.”

Jaskier put a hand over hers and turned his head to kiss her palm. “How much did he tell you?”

“That Ferrant. . .hurt you. I had no idea. I never thought. . .I'm so sorry.”

“I didn't know either. I had no memory of what happened, but it's not that bad. I'm happy and healthy now and all of that is behind me.” Jaskier swallowed. He was happy now, anyway. It had taken a while to get there. “But why are you here? I'm delighted to see you, but I never thought you'd leave Lettenhove.”

“You don't know?”

“Know what?” Something cold settled in Jaskier's gut and he set down his mug.

“Lettenhove is gone.”

“What do you mean _gone_?” Jaskier was afraid he already knew the answer, but he wasn't sure. He'd been traveling the Continent for a while now. Surely he wouldn't have missed that kind of news.

“Something happened a few weeks after you called me from Ard Carraigh. There was a huge power surge that cut out most of the city's power grid. It was temporary, but things started falling apart after that. It started out small, like malfunctioning traffic lights and bad cell phone reception. The internet got really hard to access. Everyone kept dismissing it as sun spots or other stupid excuses as to why technology was failing. I think the council knew what was going on but was trying to hide it from the public. But then the Roxely Towers fell.” 

The Roxely Towers were an overpriced status symbol for everyone who lived there. Their sheer glass walls made it look futuristic and sleek and it was a coveted address for Lettnehove's elite. Ferrant had a penthouse on one of the upper floors. Well, he didn't anymore, apparently. The towers were a local landmark in the city. And now they were gone. It must have caused a massive panic. How many people had died?

“How did you get out?”

“Stellan. After telling me that you were okay, he left for Redania. He tried to get me to come with him, but I said no at first. I mean, I didn't know him and I had no idea what was going on.”

“If I didn't know him, I probably wouldn't have gone with him either,” Jaskier said, trying not to feel guilty for leaving her behind. How the hell had he been traveling in the north all this time and not heard about this?

“When things in the city started getting really bad, the wealthy hired mages to teleport them to the borders of other Modern Cities. Most went to Cidaris and Ard Carraigh, but a few went all the way to Nilfgaard” Her voice got bitter. “They left those who couldn't afford to pay them to fend for themselves. It got pretty awful. Crime skyrocketed and most of the city guard abandoned their posts. Monsters started getting closer to the city limits.” She shuddered and Jaskier reached out to take her hand.

“It's hard to imagine until you see them for yourself,” he said. “Scared the shit out of me the first time I went into the Wood.”

“I saw more than enough before I even got here. But Stellan came back and took me out of the city in his caravan.” She smiled. “He even made room for my cat when he didn't have to. Pearl travels far better than I imagined she would. I stayed in Oxenfurt for a couple of years before starting to travel. Pearl is living with Vaz's niece at the University right now being spoiled rotten by her roommates. She seems happier there than she ever did in Lettenhove.” Essi's voice was fond, but her expression quickly sobered. “I owe Stellan my life. I'm not sure what I would have done if he hadn't returned.”

Jaskier owed the man more than he could repay. He'd have to thank him profusely the next time he saw him. Jaskier raised Essi's hand and pressed his lips to her knuckles. “I'm so glad you're safe.” He smiled. “And thriving. I heard about your performance on your way here.”

“You've made quite a name for yourself as well. Jaskier the Bard is highly praised in most places I've been.” She smiled at him and it was like the sun appeared from behind the clouds. “You look happy. It seems you. . .Oh, holy gods,” she murmured in awe, her eyes widening as her gaze shifted to somewhere behind him.

Jaskier grinned without turning around, knowing that Geralt must have walked in. “Magnificent, isn't he?”

“I think I'm in love.”

“Oh, I've had dibs for a while now,” he said, laughing quietly.

Essi's eyebrows rose. “Really?” Her smile turned sly, only faltering slightly as Geralt came up behind Jaskier and laid a possessive hand along the back of his neck. Jaskier leaned back and looked up at him. 

“May I present the lovely Essi Daven,” he said with a gallant wave at his companion. “She's my best friend and like a sister to me, so you can turn down the Scary Witcher face just a bit.”

Geralt grunted as he settled on the bench behind him and snagged Jaskier's mug.

“This is the venerable Geralt of Rivia, Witcher and renowned conversationalist.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt rumbled.

“Well, if you'd introduce yourself properly instead of stalking around like a dark thundercloud, I wouldn't have to intervene and embellish.” He ignored Geralt's glare. “I reserve the right to claim artistic license whenever you decide to be obstinately taciturn.”

Essi giggled before she could stop herself. She shifted to the side to address Geralt directly. “If you're wondering, yes, he's always been like this.”

“Hey.” Jaskier frowned when he heard Geralt's quiet chuckle. “Well I'm glad you two are getting along at my expense,” he said grumpily even though he was glad she wasn't afraid of the Witcher. And hearing Geralt laugh at anything was a glorious gift that he coveted and cherished every time he heard it.

“Well, I'm off to finish my set,” Essi said as she stood and curtsied to both of them. “A girl's got to eat after all.” 

Jaskier watched her head back toward the hearth and pick up her lute. She settled on the stool and started singing again and he relaxed back against Geralt. The sound of her voice soothed him and brought a familiarity he didn't realize he was missing until he found it again. 

“She's good,” Geralt murmured as he flagged down the barmaid to order meals and more drinks. 

“She had a recording contract back in Lettenhove.” Jaskier shifted and turned to Geralt. “But Lettenhove is gone now,” he said quietly. “The towers fell.”

Geralt didn't look surprised. “It was bound to happen eventually.” He'd said the same thing to Stellan when everyone was shocked that Jaskier had used his magic inside of the Tech to heal the bullet wound in his shoulder.

“Did you know?” Jaskier asked him as he rubbed at his shoulder absently. 

“No.” Geralt shook his head. “You're the only thing from Lettenhove that matters to me.”

Jaskier melted a little inside. It was probably the closest thing to 'I love you' that Geralt had ever said to him. He really didn't need to hear it. The other man always said more with actions than words, and he showed Jaskier how much he cared on a daily basis. But it felt good to hear it just the same. It was on the tip of Jaskier's tongue to ask Geralt if he had been the one to bring about the city's downfall with his magic, but there were too many people within earshot. They were keeping Jaskier's magical abilities a secret. The only other people aside from the Wolves who knew were Stellan, Vaz, Brett, and Filavandrel. The Elven king had been the one who first told Jaskier of his Elven blood, and had known his parents and grandfather. His family was gone now, but Jaskier carried his grandfather's lute and had inherited his magical abilities.

When their food arrived, they ate and listened to Essi sing. Jaskier felt his heart settle as he listened to her voice. He was content to be part of the audience tonight. But as relaxed as he felt, he was still shaken by what he'd learned about the city he'd called home for so long. While he'd wanted to leave and go out on his own for a long time, he didn't want it destroyed. And he hadn't wanted anyone to die. Jaskier didn't mourn the death of the man who had claimed to be his father, but he didn't have the kind of anger in him that would wish anyone genuine harm. Geralt's hand stroked softly down his back and he realized that he'd tensed up quite a bit. Jaskier forced himself to relax. He was safe in the Wood with Geralt. 

After finishing her set, Essi came back to sit with them, settling at the table with a bowl of stew and two thick slices of bread slathered in butter. She took a bite and closed her eyes in pleasure. 

“I feel like I gained ten pounds when I first came into the Wood,” she said after licking her lips. “I was honestly surprised by the quality of the food. Why does everything taste better outdoors?”

“I think it's the lack of artificial preservatives and chemicals. Everything is either fresh or naturally preserved. Some of the best meals I've had in my life have been in the Wood.” 

“Whatever it is, I like it. I'm enjoying it here far more than I thought I would.”

Jaskier smirked. “And you said I was full of nonsense when I tried to get you to go camping in the park with me.”

“Well,” she said, dunking a piece of bread in the stew and taking a bite. “At the time, I thought it was silly to go camping in the middle of the city when there was a perfectly good hotel across the street.” 

“You went camping in the city?” Geralt asked him, his tone mildly incredulous.

“It was the closest I could get to being in the Wood without actually going there.” Jaskier shrugged. “And as a bonus, no monsters. When I actually went into the Wood the first time, I was attacked within two hours.”

“You were extremely lucky,” Geralt grumbled. “I don't normally go near Modern Cities.”

“Why were you there, anyway?” Jaskier asked him. He'd never asked before.

Geralt shrugged and took a sip of his ale. “I was on my way to meet Stellan at the way station. Thought I pick up some spare coin on my own before being saddled with a bunch of Modern idiots.”

“Present company excepted, I presume.” Jaskier waited for him to agree, but when Geralt merely continued drinking placidly, he made a face. “Fine then.”

“You got yourself treed by Wargs your first day on your own.” 

“How can I forget when you continue to remind me?” Jaskier complained.

“And then you nearly stumbled into an Endrega nest.”

“By accident, I assure you.”

“As I recall, you voluntarily went towards the Rusalka.”

“Oh, alright, alright. You've made your point. But that was in the beginning when all of this was new to me. I haven't tripped over a monster in weeks.”

“Then I'll have to keep a closer eye on you. You're about due to run into something.” Geralt's tone was flat, and it was doubtful that anyone else heard the humor, but Jaskier knew he was yanking his chain. He didn't dignify his comment with a response.

Essi grinned at the two of them in delight. “Oh, you two are quite the pair.” 

Jaskier felt a smile tug at his lips. “Where are you headed?” 

“I have an engagement northeast of here in Carreras, but I'll be stopping in Ortagor to pick up a friend first. Then we'll be heading to Oxenfurt University for the fall term. I'm giving a lecture series on music in the Modern world.”

“Is there a Professor Ernan at the University?” 

“Oh, you mean Burnin' Ernan?” She laughed. “He's professor in the Alchemy department that specializes in flammable liquids.”

“Including alcohol?” Jaskier asked. 

“Indeed. He usually opens lectures by spitting fire using Firewine or Brandy. Where did you meet him?”

“He was a passenger in the caravan when I first went into the Wood. He spent most of the time drinking or hungover.” But he was remarkably observant when he wanted to be. He'd known Jaskier's real name after seeing him at a Pankratz company event in the city. Turning to Geralt, he gave him a speculative look. “Is Ortagor too far out of the way?”

Geralt shrugged. “Not much.”

Turning back to Essi, he grinned. “Can we tag along to Ortagor before we part ways? I'd love to spend more time with you.” 

“Absolutely.” She smiled at Geralt who didn't offer a response before turning back to Jaskier. “Where is your next stop after that?”

Jaskier gave her a brilliant smile. “I'll be performing for Queen Calanthe and her court during her daughter's betrothal feast.”

Essi let out a low whistle. “Wow. I've been hearing about that for weeks. That will give you some premium bragging rights.”

“Hmm. Not the point really.” Jaskier twirled his empty mug on the table. “I like performing for people. And this is. . .I can't quite describe it. I feel like I'm meant to be there. I'm not sure why.” He felt Geralt's attention sharpening even though he gave no outward sign that he was listening. Jaskier hadn't talked about how he felt about going to Cintra. It was more than just excitement for an event.

Essi regarded him quietly for a few moments before reaching across the table and taking his hand. “This place really suits you. I'm glad you're doing well.”

Jaskier squeezed her fingers. “I am. I really am.”

“Do you want to leave in the morning?”

“Geralt has a contract to look at first.” He turned to the Witcher. “Have any idea what it is?”

“Hn. Not really. The notice was too vague. I'll got see the person who posted it in the morning and decide where to go from there.”

“More time for us to chat then,” Jaskier said. “But for now, we've been traveling for a couple of days without much of a break. I'm looking forward to a bed.”  
“Good night then, Darling,” Essi said. She nodded at Geralt. “Goodnight, Master Witcher.”

Jaskier paid for a room and led the way down the back hall towards their room with Geralt traveling behind. The Witcher closed the door behind them and set down his pack.

“So this feeling about the banquet,” he said warily. “When did that start? You didn't mention it before.”

Jaskier blew out a breath, knowing it was foolish to think Geralt hadn't noticed his earlier comment. “To be honest, I don't know. Until I said it, I hadn't really thought about it much.” And he hadn't. But the moment he mentioned it to Essi, he felt like it was true. He tilted his face up when Geralt came over and cupped his face in his hands. 

“Should I be worried?” Geralt asked him.

“I don't know. I don't think so. It's just a banquet.”

“One that will decide the fate of half of the north,” Geralt said quietly. “This is no simple feast.” 

“And people will sing my ballad about the event for generations to come.” History would be made and Jaskier would be there to see it.

Geralt sighed. “I'm really going to regret this.”


	3. Sharing Secrets

Jaskier and Essi sat in the common room all morning catching up over breakfast and tea. Jaskier shared stories of his adventures with Geralt, warming to his attentive audience and feeling a bloom of warmth every time he made her laugh. She gasped softly when he pulled out his lute to show it to her and she handled it with reverence. 

“It's beautiful,” she breathed as her fingers hovered hesitantly over the strings. She handed it back without playing a note. 

After leaving Lettenhove, Essi had gone to Oxenfurt with Stellan's caravan. Brett had taken a shine to her apparently, and gone out of his way to make sure she was safe and comfortable on the journey. At the University, she'd taken several liberal arts classes, along with music, history, and civics. The last caught Jaskier's attention. Knowing more about the laws and rights of citizens in the Wood could come in handy. 

Geralt returned around mid-morning in a foul mood. To others, he probably seemed his normal, grumpy self, but Jaskier could see the layer of discontent that had settled on his shoulders. Reaching out and taking his hand to draw him down onto the bench beside him, he moved closer. 

“How'd it go?”

“Hn. It was a civil disturbance, nothing more.”

Jaskier stared at him, waiting for him to add just a little more detail. He'd learned that if he was patient, he would usually fill in the blanks. Geralt glared back flatly but complied with his silent request, as he usually did. “The cooper thought his workshop was being haunted. Turned out to be his neighbor trying to scare him into selling his property at a discounted rate. Stupid humans,” he muttered.

“Want to head out, then?”

“The sooner the better. I have little patience with fools.”

“Well, Essi, my dear? Ready to hit the road?”

“Just let me get my things. I need to make a quick stop at the market and I'll meet you outside in an hour.” Essi finished her tea and got up to head towards the hall where the guest rooms were. When she was gone, Jaskier rested his chin on his hand and regarded Geralt thoughtfully. 

“Are you sure you're okay with doing this?”

“I don't mind traveling with your friend. She's less annoying than most.”

“Not that. Cintra. We don't have to go if you really don't want to.”

Geralt's lips thinned and he blew out a long breath. “That's hardly a choice.”

“I'm not going to force you,” Jaskier huffed. “There's a difference between you grudgingly accepting and being genuinely miserable.”

Geralt looked away for a moment, his expression unhappy. Whatever he was looking for, he didn't seem to find it. Turning back to Jaskier, he sighed softly. “Now that you have Calanthe's attention, it would be unwise to refuse her.”

“ _You_ were planning to.”

“I'm not talking about me. The Queen has a reputation for being efficient and brutal, and she doesn't tolerate dissent. Eliminating one bard that dared defy her to make an example to others would hardly be beyond her scope.” 

“You wouldn't let her.”

“Jaskier.” Geralt's expression was pained. “I'm very capable, but even I can't face down an army.”

“We'll go then, which we'd already decided to do anyway, and maybe it will be fine.” Jaskier had a sudden feeling that may have doomed them by saying so out loud. Shaking his head, he grabbed Geralt's hand and got to his feet. “Come on then. We need to get our packs ready to leave and I want to check out the market before we go.”

*******

Jaskier picked up a few apples for Roach at the market along with a bottle of linseed oil for his lute. It was remarkably resilient and the Elven carvings were pristine despite its age, but he was incredibly careful with it. It was the only thing he had left of his real family. Geralt trailed after him through the market, sticking silently to his side. When they got back to the inn, Essi was waiting for them with her pack and lute stowed on her back. She was dressed in the colors of the ocean. She'd exchanged her skirts for a pair of dark blue trousers and travel boots that had also been dyed blue. Her pale blue blouse and embroidered turquoise bodice hugged her torso, making her appear lovely and feminine. The long tail of her blonde braid lay on top of her backpack. 

“Ready, gentleman?” she asked brightly.

“Of course,” Jaskier replied. “We just need to retrieve her Ladyship from the stables and then we can head out.” He grinned as Geralt rolled his eyes and headed around behind the inn.

“Ladyship?”

Jaskier snorted. “He names all his horses Roach, but I refuse to call her that.” 

“You don't ride?”

“Eh. I like walking.” He didn't tell her that he'd bought a horse of his own once, but Roach terrorized the poor thing until it just refused to go on. He'd given the mare to a farmer who had lost his mount to Nekkers, and the horse seemed thrilled to be left behind. He never bothered to get another one.

When Geralt came out leading Roach by the reigns, she pulled ahead to butt her head against Jaskier's shoulder. Holding up the small apple he'd left out of his pack, he offered it to her and she took it delicately from his hand. 

“Good morning, Sweetheart,” he said with a smile as he scratched behind her ears. While Roach crunched on the apple, she looked over at Essi and whuffled softly. “Essi is a friend of mine. Be nice,” Jaskier told her solemnly Roach blinked and finished the apple as Geralt mounted and guided her around to head out of town. Jaskier turned to Essi. “I believe you have been deemed worthy.”

“Uh. She seemed indifferent to me.”

“She didn't try to bite you. That's fairly high praise.”

Essi laughed and fell into step beside him as they started off down the road. Once they were out of town and moving between the surrounding fields, Jaskier pulled out his lute and started to play. He sang of renewed friendship and travels on friendly roads. Essi sighed and picked up the pace with a bounce in her step. Jaskier felt the music energize him as they continued on. Even Geralt seemed to perk up. When they stopped beside a stream early in the afternoon to water Roach and take a break to eat, Essi sat on a fallen log next to him with an odd expression on her face.

“What?” he asked her.

“You've changed.” Essi's calm tone made it an observation rather than an accusation.

“I have,” he admitted. “But in a good way, I hope.”

Essi sighed and settled her hands in her lap. “What did Ferrant do?” she asked quietly. “Stellan didn't tell me much no matter how much I asked.”

“Nothing, really. He. . .” Jaskier swallowed and looked over at Geralt. The other man returned his gaze steadily before finally shrugging.

“Tell her what you wish. But every person that knows is someone who who can spread the knowledge.” He held up a hand when Jaskier opened his mouth to protest. “It's not about trust. The moment more than one person knows something, it's no longer a secret.”

Jaskier thought about it for a moment and looked at Essi.

“If you can't talk about it I'll understand, really,” she said. And he knew she did. But she was one of the only people from his past that he truly valued. It felt right that she should know.

“Please don't share this with anyone, even if you trust them. It's. . .dangerous.” When Essi nodded solemnly, he took a deep breath. “Talwyn wasn't my father, and I'm not really a Pankratz. My mother was an Elf from the Wood. She was trying to escape the Great Cleansing when my real father died, and Talwyn took her in.” He paused and took a drink from his water skin to wet his suddenly dry throat. “He experimented on me. Changed me from an Elf into a Human.”

Essi reached out tentatively, pausing just before touching his skin. He nodded and she ran her fingers gently over the edge of his ear. Her hand traveled down over his cheek, and under his chin, a soft exploration of his features. 

“But you look different now than the last time I saw you,” she said hesitantly. “I thought it was my imagination last night.” 

Jaskier didn't look quite the same as he used to. He features were finer, his eyes a more ethereal shade of blue. All of the changes his father had forced upon him had slowly changed back the the way he'd been when he was born. 

“I changed myself back into an Elf. Mostly.”

“How?”

“With my magic,” he said. He winced when her eyes widened. 

“Wait. Does that mean you're a mage?”

“No. I'm a Bard, apparently.”

Essi huffed. “Well, yes you are. So am I.”

“No,” Jaskier said again. “Bard with a capitol 'B'. My music has the power to heal. Remember the Warg bites on my foot? That happened two days before you came over.”

“That's not. . .it looked like they were weeks old. It couldn't have been just two days.”

“That's not all.” Jaskier was hesitant, but wanted to show her what magic healing really looked like. He unbuttoned his doublet and shrugged out of it before unlacing his chemise so he could expose his right shoulder.

“Is that a bullet wound?!” Essi's voice was alarmed as she moved forward to examine the scar. “Who did this?”

“Doldir.”

“But. . .he was a member of the city guard.”

“And you know how well they upheld law and order.” Jaskier snorted. Not all of of the guard members sucked at their jobs, but some of them only did the right thing when it was convenient for them. Doldir had been in Ferrant's pocket and did whatever Jaskier's cousin wanted. But he'd also been a member of the Eternal Fire cult that hated non-humans. Jaskier had pushed Vaz out of the way and taken the bullet, but he wasn't entirely sure it hadn't hit its intended target anyway. Pulling his clothes back into place, he took a deep shuddering breath.

“Did you heal that with your magic too?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said quietly. “Ferrant had me brought back to Lettenhove so he could restart Talwyn's experiments. But the equipment started failing and the tests didn't work. I broke an MRI machine with magic when I had a panic attack inside it, and then the power went out.” Jaskier paused to let it sink in. “Vaz got me out of the lab, but we ran into Doldir and he shot me. Within ten minutes, the wound was already closed. Then Geralt showed up, and then we left through a portal just inside the edge of the city.”

Essi was quiet for several moments, like she didn't know what to say. Jaskier let her take it all in. Finally, she leaned in and hugged him tight, holding him in her arms. He relaxed into her and let out the breath he'd been holding. 

“I love you. I will always love you, whether you're Human or Elf. I don't care. I'm so sorry you went through all of that.” She pulled back and held him at arms length. “Thank you for telling me. It's nobody's business but yours. I won't be telling anyone else.” 

“Thanks.” He smiled when she leaned in and kissed his cheek. She seemed to have missed the part where magic had been used inside the city limits. But she seemed spooked enough by learning what happened that he left it alone. 

“I knew this place would be good for you,” Essi said and settled in her seat again. She turned to Geralt who had been silently whittling a stick with his knife in a rare show of nerves. He only did that when he was trying to calm himself while not wanting to miss anything. He tended to zone out when he meditated and only imminent danger would catch his attention. Essi smiled at him. “And thank you, Geralt. For taking care of him.” 

“It's easier to keep an eye on him than let him go off on his own and get into trouble.” Geralt's tone was a low grumble, but Jaskier could hear the fondness underneath. 

Jaskier waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. “Nonsense. You would be lost and destitute without me.”

Geralt just grunted and tossed the carved stick aside as he stood and whistled for Roach who was nibbling on a hawthorn bush a few feet away. “We have a few more miles to cover before making camp for the night.” 

They traveled on, keeping to the main road as they always did when they wanted to make good time. It was safer on paths were were traveled more often, as monsters were far less common. They kept going until the sun started setting and they moved off the beaten path to find a spot to spend the night. Geralt wandered off into the trees to hunt something fresh for dinner while Jaskier started a fire and got out the pan. 

“You seem at home in the woods,” Essi said as she started peeling a potato with the delicate knife she'd pulled from a hidden sheath at her belt. Jaskier watched her nimbly turn the tuber in her fingers as the peel started trailing down toward the grass between her feet. She seemed remarkably proficient with it. Jaskier had enough kitchen related knife skills to prepare food with a reasonable amount of competence. But despite despite Geralt's patient guidance during winters at Kaer Morhen, he had never really become comfortable with a knife in his hands. 

“I am at home here,” he said as he rooted around in cooking gear for the salt and herbs. “Don't get me wrong. I love soft beds and hot baths, but yeah. Even in the very beginning, I felt really comfortable in the forest.” Jaskier pulled out a small box that contained various jars and pots. It wasn't unlike Geralt's potion chest, but instead of noxious Witcher Potions, it continued jars of herbs, a pot of salt, and poppy seed oil. Poking at the fire, he kept an eye on it and added sticks to build up the flames. 

“That's. . . quite the stash.” Essi gave him a bemused look as she eyed the jars. 

“While I like traveling in the forest and eating outdoors, there's no need to make a tasteless affair,” he said. Geralt rolled his eyes every time he pulled it out, but Jaskier didn't go anywhere without it. One too many days of gnawing on bland bread and dried meats on the road had forced him to do some research. Vesemir had been a great help. While he wasn't really retired, he didn't travel the Path quite as often anymore. So he'd spent a great deal of time in the kitchen over the long decades trying to stave off boredom. Jaskier held up the jar of poppy seed oil. “This is also great for hair and skin. Remarkable stuff.”

Essi laughed. “I wasn't sure you'd be able to be this fussy in the Wood.”

“Fussy?” He gasped in mock indignation. “I am merely refined,” his said with a smile and a laugh. She smiled at him and it was a good moment. He'd missed her so much. 

Jaskier suddenly looked off into the bushes to their right, but he wasn't quite sure what had drawn his attention. Roach lifted her head from where she was nibbling at the underbrush, but didn't seem otherwise disturbed. 

“What is it?” Essi asked quietly.

Jaskier held up a hand to hush her. Whatever it was, it wasn't Geralt. Essi glanced around at the trees and when she looked back at Jaskier, she gasped right before he felt the kiss of a blade at his throat. Jaskier raised his hands carefully and held still so he wouldn't spook the person that stood behind him. 

“We have nothing of value.” He wasn't going to put up a fight or risk getting either one of them injured. Or worse. And he didn't mention they were traveling with a Witcher. That could potentially do more harm than good. 

“Out of all the Dh'oine in this miserable world,” the woman behind him muttered.

“Toruviel, my dear. How have you been?” Jaskier kept his tone light as relief flooded him. He sucked in a short breath at the flat of the blade pressed into his skin. Jaskier hadn't seen her since the day he met Filavandrel, and if she didn't know he was actually and Elf, he wasn't going to correct her assumption that he was Human.

“I've been better,” the Elf said, her tone low. 

“Jaskier. . .” Essi sounded scared, but not panicked which was good.

“It's okay,” he said. When Essi looked at him in confusion, he took a deep, careful breath and tried again. “It will be alright.” He had to concentrate to speak Common so she could understand him. Whenever he used his magic or heard Elder Speech, he tended to start speaking it himself without realizing it. Lambert was surprisingly fluent and he'd worked with Jaskier to help him hear the difference. It had turned out to be an annoying and tedious exercise that had involved the snarky Witcher throwing pebbles at him every time his language slipped. But he now recognized the speech patterns that he'd once mistaken for an accent. “They won't hurt us,” he said, hoping he was right.

“Shut up,” Toruviel hissed.

“Really, there's no need for weapons,” Jaskier said calmly. “If you were going to hurt me, you would have already.” He spread his hands toward the fire. “We were just about to cook something for dinner. You're welcome to join us if you'd be kind enough to remove the knife.” 

To his surprise, Toruviel complied. She came around so she could glare down at him with the blade held loosely in her hand. He sucked in a breath at the mottled bruises along her jaw and the bloody bandage wrapped around her temples. Two more Elves came out of the brush behind her with bows in their hands. The strings were relaxed, but their arrows were nocked and ready. Both of them also showed signs of injury.

“Are you alright?” He slipped into Elder Speech and didn't bother to correct it. It seemed to annoy her, but Common probably would have made her angry.  
“is it true that you can heal with your music?” Toruviel asked tightly.

Jaskier opened his mouth, but didn't say anything for a moment. He'd healed himself with his singing in the past, but he had yet to successfully heal another person. In order to practice healing, he needed an injured person. Eskel had once sliced his palm open and offered him his bleeding hand so he could have something to work with. Jaskier had immediately gotten nauseous and had too much trouble concentrating to do anything. He'd made all of the Wolves promise never to do that. He wasn't going to let the Witchers injure themselves for the sake of letting him experiment with his magic. 

“Yes and no,” he said finally. “It's complicated.”

The two Elves with Toruviel raised their bows and her glower darkened. “Well, you'd better make it simple, Baegblath. Filavandrel isn't here to save you this time.”


	4. Unexpected Cost

Jaskier stared at Toruviel and the two Elves that were pointing bows at him and Essi, wondering what he was going to do. And then there was a twang as both bowstrings snapped and their wielders stumbled back in surprise. The knife that had snapped the weapons' strings thudded into a nearby tree as Geralt came into the small clearing with his sword drawn.

“Whatever you're after, consider your next action carefully,” he rumbled in Common. He and Toruviel stood staring at each other for several tense moments until Jaskier finally had enough.

“Yes, yes. You're both badasses,” he said, annoyed at both of them. Standing, he grabbed his lute and looked at Toruviel. “Who's hurt?”

Toruviel's lips thinned and she didn't answer.

“You came in here, threatened me with a knife, asked me about my healing abilities, and now you don't want anything?”

She drew in a deep breath and blew it out slowly like she was trying to calm herself. “If you do not have the ability to heal, it does not matter.”

“I can try.”

She watched him for a moment before nodding at him to follow and moving off into the trees.

“Jaskier,” Geralt rumbled, a warning in his voice.

“I'm going.” Despite his past failures as a healer for others, he wasn't going to let the Elves walk away to nurse their wounds alone if there was even a chance that he could do something. It must have taken a lot for Toruviel to come to him and ask for anything.

“You're not going alone,” Geralt growled at him. 

“Of course not. Obviously you're coming with me.” Jaskier ignored the Witcher's glower and held out his hand for Essi. He concentrated on his words to speak Common. “You're not staying here by yourself. Come on.” 

Essi tucked her knife carefully back into the sheath at her belt and grasped his hand to let him pull her to her feet. She pressed in close as they followed the Elves further into the trees. They didn't have to go far. Their camp was surprisingly close, tucked in a cave that had formed under an old ruin. Statues guarded the entrance, but their features were smooth and eroded by time. The Elves must have heard their arrival and sat waiting while they set up camp.

Inside, the glow of a small fire had been hidden by the greenery draped over the entrance. Three Elves were waiting and all of them were injured. Two of them were propped up against the wall, looking wary. The third was laying next to fire, his breaths coming in short pants. The front of his tunic was soaked in blood and his skin was extremely pale. A sheen of sweat glistened on his forehead in the flickering firelight. His right hand was wrapped in blood soaked bandages and from the abnormal shape, it appeared he was missing at least two fingers. 

“What happened?” Jaskier asked as he knelt by the wounded Elf. He was at a bit of a loss as to what to do and was beginning to regret immediately agreeing. What if he couldn't do anything? What if he could? What would that mean and where would he go from here? He tried his best not to let himself be overwhelmed by the possibilities.

“Who is this?” one of the waiting Elves asked before anyone could answer Jaskier's question.

One of the archers nodded at Geralt and Jaskier. “It's Gwynbleidd and his Baegblath, the ones we told you about.”

The waiting Elf sneered when Jaskier took out his lute. “What is he going to do? Sing Erlowyth better?”

Jaskier ignored him and settled at Erlowyth's side. He laid a careful hand on his shoulder and closed his eyes, hoping his subconscious would guide him. But he felt nothing. Blowing out a breath, he sat back and laid his hands on the lute strings. The music was soft as he started playing, and he let it wander, trying not to force it. This wasn't an experiment. There was a life hanging in the balance and Jaskier was terrified of screwing it up. 

His heartbeat slowed until it was sluggish and lazy and he felt his breathing get shallower as sweat broke out on his forehead and dripped down his temple in a long, itching trail. There was something missing and he felt the fingers of his right hand twitch. A couple discordant notes twanged out, harsh and unpleasant, making the music falter. He didn't sing. He didn't have the words. He tried to fill the hole, to replace what what gone. But he started getting lightheaded and the notes took on a sour sound.

“Enough!” Geralt's harsh growl snapped Jaskier out of his thoughts.

The lute was pulled out of Jaskier's hands and he fell back, breathing heavily. His hand ached and he was soaked in sweat. There was a warm presence behind him and he leaned back out into it as Geralt's arm wrapped around his chest from behind. 

“Enough,” Geralt murmured in Jaskier's ear, his voice softer. 

“Wha-” Jaskier had to swallow to wet his suddenly dry mouth. “What happened?”

“It was hurting you.” Geralt's voice was quiet. 

Jaskier blinked his eyes open to look down at Erlowyth. The Elf's eyes were heavy lidded as he blinked back at him, but he appeared to be conscious. His breathing was still shallow, but there was a bit of color in his cheeks now. Toruviel was kneeling next to him with a hand on his brow.

“How do you feel?” she asked Erlowyth, with a kindness Jaskier had never seen her display before.

“Tingles,” Erlowyth murmured before closing his eyes again as Toruviel peeled back his sticky shirt. 

“The wounds are closing,” she said, her voice soft. Her lips thinned as she checked his hand. The horrible ruin of his missing fingers was healing, but the digits were still gone.

“Sorry.” Jaskier felt like he had failed somehow as he lay back against Geralt. He was exhausted. 

“He'll live. That's enough,” she said. Her gaze was unreadable as he looked at Jaskier. Her face was mostly in shadow, but she seemed to be studying him. He had no idea what she was thinking, but he was having a hard time staying awake. 

“Jaskier.” Geralt's voice sounded far away. Jaskier drifted and felt himself go limp.

*******

“Will he be alright?” Essi's voice sounded worried. 

“'M fine.” Jaskier's words were slurred as he tried to reassure her. He felt a hand brushing his hair away from his forehead. He stomach rumbled as the smell of cooking meat wafted over from the fire. He opened his eyes to see that they were back at their own camp and there was food cooking on the fire. He was laying on his bedroll with his head in Essi's lap. He sat up gingerly and massaged the fingers of his right hand. “What happened?”

“You passed out,” Essi said as she handed him a mug of tea. “Has that ever happened before?”

“No.” Geralt's voice was dark. “That was incredibly dangerous.”

Jaskier scoffed. “It was no different than when I was trying to practice at Kaer Morhen. And it was only a few minutes.” Jaskier blinked when both of his companions exchanged a look.

“Jaskier,” Essi said carefully. “You were playing for more than an hour. And then you. . . you got really pale and your fingers stumbled on the strings.”

“Oh.” Jaskier rubbed the back of his neck, trying to ease the tension from the headache that was starting to form. It hadn't felt like an hour.

“Healing a cut is far different than pulling someone from the edge of death,” Geralt said as he turned the spit on the fire. “If something had gone wrong, he could have pulled you down with him.” 

Jaskier was quiet for a moment. He didn't regret it. Somehow he knew that Erlowyth wouldn't have lived to see the morning had he not intervened. 

“What's wrong with your hand?” Geralt asked, his voice hard.

Jaskier paused where he was flexing his fingers again. “Nothing. I think.” He sat quietly as Geralt moved closer and took Jaskier's hand in his own. The touch was warm and gentle as he ran his calloused fingertips along the tendons and bones, searching for injury. “There was something missing,” Jaskier murmured. 

“What do you mean?” Essi asked. She seemed unnerved. 

“I don't know. It just felt like there was something missing. I tried to push, but. . .”

“You can't create something from nothing,” Geralt said as he released his hand. 

“What?”

Geralt sighed. “Magic and Chaos are about change. But not creation. You can't create something from nothing without paying for it.”

Jaskier curled his fingers and held his hand against his chest. Vague memories surfaced from his magic classes at the University in Lettenhove. It had only been about theory because magic didn't work in Modern Cities, but the idea was that magic was about equivalent exchange. But it wasn't quite that straightforward. There was a danger of literally burning yourself out if you didn't know what you were doing. 

“How do I heal myself, then? How am I paying for that?”

“I don't know.” And Geralt sounded troubled by that. Jaskier wasn't thrilled about it either.

Jaskier touched his ear, wondering if that's why they were still rounded. Maybe he couldn't create the pointed ends out of thin air. All of the changes to his features has merely shifted something that was already there. He dropped his hands to his lap and sighed. Once again, he had more questions than answers, and no one to answer them. 

When the food was done, they paused the conversation to sit quietly eating for a while. Jaskier ate ravenously and finished everything he was given. He was still tired, but it wasn't the bone deep weariness from earlier. 

“What does Baegblath mean?” Essi finished cleaning up and packed her things away.

Jaskier sighed. “Little Flower. Apparently, Jaskier means Buttercup in an old, northern dialect.” When Essi let out a little laugh, he rolled his eyes. But he was glad to see her apprehension had eased. “I didn't know what it meant when I picked it. I read it in a book somewhere, and I liked the way it sounded.” Vaz had shared that little tidbit with him one day. He didn't know why the other man had chosen Buttercup as a nickname at first, but he rarely called Jaskier anything else. 

“Did Toruviel say who attacked them?” he asked, trying to change the subject.

“No.” Geralt cleaned away the last bit of dinner detritus. “But Cintra isn't a favorable place for non-humans and Calanthe isn't overly fond of Elves in general.”

Well, that certainly put a bit of a damper on his excitement for the upcoming betrothal. It wasn't enough to keep him from going, but he wondered if that was part of why Geralt wasn't enthusiastic about attending. 

“Will the two of you be safe?” Essi asked.

“It will be fine,” Jaskier said, trying to reassure her.

“Will you be 'fine' the same way said you were 'safe' in Ard Carraigh?” Essi's voice held an edge he rarely heard. 

“What do yo mean?” he asked warily. 

She reached out and pulled out the pendant he wore and held it in her palm. It was a small piece of knotted wood that had been given to him by a rather unexpected savior. It was a piece of Leshen's heartwood and the Leshen who had given it to him had saved Jaskier from an assassin. 

“You said you were safe when you called me. Less than a week later, you almost died.”

“You told her,” Jaskier said as he turned an annoyed gaze on Geralt. The Witcher shrugged unapologetically.

“She asked.”

Huffing, he turned back to Essi. “I didn't want to worry you and there wasn't anything you could have done. I had no idea an assassin was after me, and the Leshen was a complete surprise.” Jaskier wound down as her expression softened. “It's just. . .I have no control over most of this. I try to be careful. Honest.”

“That's all I can ask for, I guess.” She sighed and tucked the pendant back inside his clothes. “I never imagined our lives turning out this way. I thought we'd stay in Lettenhove. Maybe we would have traveled to another city at some point. But this. This is. . .different.”

Jaskier was glad that she didn't seem to be holding his lapse in judgment against him. He hadn't wanted to lie. But he hadn't wanted to drag her into his troubles either. 

“Believe me, I didn't expect any of this either.” 

“Just take care of yourself. “ Essi patted his cheek. 

“I will. Promise.” Jaskier was getting tired again. This was by far the most drained he'd felt after using his magic. Most times, he almost felt energized. Even when he'd fallen down into a ravine and broken several bones, he hadn't felt this exhausted after healing himself. Curling up in his bedroll, he settle down for the night. Essi followed suit, and Geralt settled on his knees by the fire. He probably wouldn't be sleeping tonight. Instead, he'd meditate and keep watch. It wouldn't be the first time he'd been wary of their surroundings. Jaskier's last thought before drifting off was that he wished it was safe enough for them to share a bedroll. 

*******

The mood was much lighter as they arrived in Ortagor at the end of the next day. The town was well kept and the brickwork was clean and maintained. Jaskier had noticed that many parts of Cintra were in better condition than towns in some other parts of the Continent. Calanthe may be ruthless, but her kingdom seemed to be run well. As they came into the center of town, they were greeted by a petite redhead with short hair. Her vivid green vest stood out in a bright contrast and her trunk hose gave her a distinguished look that made her stand out from the crowd. 

“Essi. I'm glad you made it.” The woman's eyes looked Jaskier up and down before settling on Geralt, widening a little in surprise. “I see you've managed to find some interesting traveling companions.”

“Shani, this is Geralt of Rivia, and my dear friend Jaskier.” Essi introduced them easily. “This is Shani. We met at the University when I first arrived in Oxenfurt and she's become a good friend.“

Jaskier bowed over Shani's proffered hand and kissed her knuckles. “Any friend of Essi's is a friend of mine.”

“Oh, wow.” Shani giggled as he rose and winked at her. “I caught your performance when you were in Oxenfurt last year. You made quite the impression.”

“Yes, well. I do enjoy a lively audience. And the University was quite generous.” 

“And you left a fair share of disappointed fans behind when you decided not to stay.” 

Jaskier glanced at Geralt who gave him a flat look. They'd parted ways at the time so Geralt could hunt a Griffin east of the city on his own. Meanwhile, Jaskier had accepted an invitation to the University to play during a series of guest performances by traveling minstrels. He'd spent quite a bit of time afterwards hiding from coeds and trying to find a polite way to decline the invitation to stay. You'd think the girls there had never seen a man before. Jaskier actually had to throw a girl out of his room when he found her naked in his bed one night. And there had been a handful of interested young men as well, who'd followed him around with doe eyes and dreamy expressions. In the past, he would have been thrilled with the attention, and he would have gladly taken many of them up on their offers. But oddly, he hadn't been interested.

Jaskier had never been in a committed relationship before. He'd always wandered wherever his heart took him and didn't hold a grudge against anyone who strayed from his side. But he wasn't sure if he and Geralt were exclusive or not. They'd never talked about it. With the way the other man grumped about people fawning over Jaskier, he was inclined to believe they were. And he wasn't interested in anyone except the Witcher right now. But it was still an oddly open subject. This was the longest he'd ever stayed with a single person. Turning back to Shani, he demurred.

“I'm glad they enjoyed the performance. I may visit again someday if the road leads me In that direction.”

Shani glanced between Jaskier and Geralt with a knowing smile tugging at her lips. “I'm sure the dean will be glad to hear it. Have you eaten yet? It's a little early for dinner, but there's a restaurant on the eastern side of the city that makes some of the best food in the area. I've been given a steep discount for helping the owner yesterday.”

Jaskier looked at Geralt again who lifted his shoulder slightly, letting him know that he had no preference. While he avoided crowds, the Witcher wasn't above enjoying good food when they had the opportunity. More than once, Jaskier had caught him with a satisfied expression on his face when he was savoring something tasty. But they didn't get the chance to indulge often.

“We'd be delighted,” Jaskier said. “Just allow us to freshen up a bit before joining you.”

They headed to the inn across the street to rent a room and get cleaned up from the road before heading across town to a small restaurant tucked in between two larger buildings. The owner was very attentive and promised to offer some of the best things on the menu. They were served watercress soup, a salad of asparagus with herbs and almond slivers, and roast duck. A sweet, white wine accompanied everything and at the end, they had pears poached in spiced brandy. Jaskier felt spoiled. He hadn't expected to eat so well until they got to the banquet in the capitol. He thanked their gracious host who seemed to preen under the attention. And as a bonus, he seemed thrilled to have a Witcher at his table.

“So, Shani. What are you studying?” Jaskier asked their newest companion. He sipped at the excellent wine and sat back comfortably in his seat. 

“I'm studying medicine with a focus on infectious diseases.”

Jaskier saluted her with his glass. “A worthy endeavor. It must be a challenge.”

“While we may not have the technology that Modern Cities do, that doesn't mean we're incapable of treating injuries and illnesses.”

“Forgive me. I didn't mean to imply otherwise.” 

“No offense taken,” Shani said easily, though there was layer of irritation underneath.

“Has Reinhardt been spewing his nonsense again,” Essi asked her.

Shani blew out an annoyed breath. “The _ass_ ,” she spat. “He takes one trip to a modern hospital in Cidaris, and suddenly he thinks he's the savior of the Continent. Don't get me wrong,” she said to Jaskier. “Modern medicine is fascinating and I'd love to get a closer look at newer techniques to see if I can apply any of them inside the Wood. But we're not barbarians. We're making the best of what we've got.”

Jaskier had experienced more than enough of modern medicine and would live quite happily never setting foot in a hospital again. His cousin Ferrant had held him prisoner in an underground lab for days as he prepared to start up his uncle's experiments again. A small shiver shook him. He doubted the girls noticed, but Geralt's hand came to rest on his thigh under the table, a warm and steady weight. Fortunately, the conversation shifted into more pleasant areas and he was able to put it behind him.

At the end of their evening, Jaskier and Essi kissed each other's cheeks and embraced before heading to their respective rooms for tonight. Essi would be bunking with Shani in her room and they'd be joining a caravan that was heading to Carreras in a couple of days. He was sorry to see her go, but he was glad to see that she was in good hands. When he settled into bed with Geralt, the other man pulled him in close, tucking his head under his chin. After an evening of good food, good wine, and excellent company, Jaskier drifted off into a deep, restful sleep.


	5. Surprise

The trip from Ortagor to the Cintran capitol was sedate enough as to be almost mundane. The weather was mostly fair and they didn't run into any trouble along the way. The only notable event was the storm that delayed them for a couple of days. Jaskier was almost starting to get paranoid that he was missing something because it was so normal. But he forgot all of that when the city became visible on the horizon. Ard Carraigh had been striking in it's modern sleekness, but Cintra had an old elegance he hadn't seen in any other city they'd visited. It lay along the coastline, spreading out around the central spire of the palace that had been built directly into the rock. 

“So where is this backup tailor of yours?” Geralt asked him. It was the first thing he'd said after hours of silence. The closer they got to the city, the darker his brooding had become. Jaskier had decided not to mention it or let his mood dampen his own excitement. 

“Bellamy's shop is in the Crafter's Quarter on the southern side of the city.” Jaskier looked up at the sun where it had started its downward trajectory toward the horizon. “She should still be open for a while yet.”

At the gates, the guards stopped them and asked for ID. It wasn't typical, as the city gates were usually freely open, but they were allowed through when Jaskier showed them the invitation that he'd been given for the feast. 

“What was that about?” Jaskier asked Geralt as they headed down the cobbled street towards the city center.

“It's a betrothal feast,” Geralt said, his tone bland. “Every eligible bachelor from every city, fiefdom, and town in the north and south will be coming here to present themselves before the queen. Tensions will be high, so they'll limit visitors until it's over and they've gone home. Without your invitation, I doubt we would have gotten in.” He sounded mildly disappointed that they hadn't been turned away.

“Relax, it will be fine.” Jaskier was trying to calm himself down as much as he was trying to comfort Geralt. The tingle of nerves quivered in his belly. He'd never performed at a royal court before, but he had his set planned out and he knew exactly what he wanted to sing for the occasion. 

“Don't mistake naivete for optimism,” Geralt growled. “We are walking willingly into the Lioness' den.”

“Really, Geralt,” Jaskier huffed as they put Roach in the stables by the gatehouse. “The worst of it will probably be a bunch of drunken nobles picking fights with each other. I'm being compensated handsomely and we'll just stay out of their way. This is a historical occasion and people will be telling stories about tomorrow night for years to come.”

“That's what I'm afraid of.”

Jaskier ignored his grumpy companion and headed for Bellamy's shop. The streets were decked out for the occasion with garlands of flowers and colorful ribbons. Shops and houses alike had small wreaths with blue and yellow flowers. Pennants dyed blue with lapis, or woad for the less affluent, fluttered in the afternoon breeze coming off the sea. The atmosphere in the city was anticipatory and jubilant. Jaskier drank it in.

The tailor shop was busy as people were getting ready for the event tomorrow night and two customers were leaving with their purchases as they came in. Bellamy hadn't quite reached the level of acclaim required to make clothing for the royal family, but she catered to the local nobles and she was most likely making last minute adjustments. Jaskier had wanted to arrive a little earlier, but the storm had been fierce enough to make them stay at an inn they found along the way for a couple days. He hated traveling in the rain, so he was glad to sit it out indoors. 

“Bellamy, my dear. You look lovelier every time I see you.” When the lady of the shop turned to give him a bland look, he bowed with a flourish. “How are you this fine day?”

“Busy. You were supposed to be here yesterday at the latest.” The pleasantly plump woman looked harried as she snipped a loose thread on a pair of ornate trousers. Her dark hair was pulled back under an embroidered cap and her dress was sedate in its coloring, but obviously well made.

“My apologies, Madam. The weather took a turn for the worse when we crossed the Attre river and we were delayed a bit. I'm sure your skillful work needs very little adjustment.”

Bellamy snorted and went over to a wardrobe that stood in the corner. “I'm not giving you a discount for flattery.” 

“Of course not, why I-” Jaskier paused and and sighed as the back of Geralt's hand thumped softly into his arm. He dropped the flowery language. “Right, sorry. I really meant to be here earlier. I hope it's not too much trouble.”

“Oh, don't lose the courtly bullshit on my account,” Bellamy said with glance towards the door to make sure they were alone. “I'm sure the lords and ladies of the court will lap it up. Just don't expect me to buy into that shite.”

“Oh, perish the thought.” Jaskier smiled when she smirked at him. And then he whistled when she held out the the outfit he'd be wearing tomorrow night. 

He'd been delighted by the sumptuous fabric she'd showed him when he was here two months ago. It was an antique golden brocade that reminded him of Geralt's eyes reflecting the firelight. He moved immediately into the next room to change and came out so Bellamy could check the fit. The doublet had diagonal pleats pointing downward across the chest and down the arms. The collar was high but open in the front to keep it from being too tight. He raised his arms and turned experimentally to test the fit. 

“You've outdone yourself, my dear,” he said as he admired his reflection in the full length, paneled mirror. The doublet fit remarkable well. The trousers were a bit loose around his thighs, but that would allow him to move easily across the floor as he played. 

“Remember that the next time you complain about how many measurements I take,” she said as she brushed her hands across his shoulders and tugged at the hem to settle it on his torso. “Due to my thorough work, it appears no adjustments are necessary.” When her hands slid along the waistband over his belly to test the fit there, he giggled. She patted his hip fondly and he could see her smiling in the mirror. She had quite the grumpy exterior, but he liked that she still had a sense of humor. “Now, for you Master Witcher,” she said as she went to retrieve another garment.

“No.” Geralt's tone was firm and Jaskier just sighed.

“Geralt.”

“No. You are not dressing me for tomorrow night.”

“Relax, I'm not going to make you look like some sad silk merchant. You were requested by name, so it's no use trying to hide the obvious even though you can't go armed. And you won't be able to wear your armor. It's just a doublet and shirt. We'll have your boots properly cleaned and your leather pants are fine.”

“Oh, they're more than fine,” Bellamy murmured as she pulled out a black doublet made of watered silk. It was unadorned, but it was elegant in its simplicity. When Geralt tried it on, it was a little tight.

“It fits better than expected since I had to do it without measurements, as you refused to allow me near you the last time you were here.” She sounded annoyed, but not angry. At least she was comfortable enough to be honest. 

“Thank you, my dear for making the effort,” Jaskier told her. “It's more than we could have asked for.” 

“It's been a pleasure doing business with you, Master Bard.”

Jaskier wasn't sure he was quite worthy of that particular moniker yet, but it made him smile anyway. He ignored Geralt's glower as the other man pulled off the doublet and shirt and redressed while Jaskier settled the bill with Bellamy. Then he changed back into his own travel clothes. He'd wait until tomorrow evening to don the new ones. As they headed to the inn where they'd be staying, he leaned against Geralt's arm.

“Thank you for putting up with me. I know you don't want to be here.”

Geralt sighed but didn't reply as they headed inside and paid for the room. Upstairs, Jaskier laid out the new clothes so they wouldn't wrinkle. Then he pulled out his notebook to review his set for the feast. He'd be playing old standbys and a few newer songs that hadn't quite made the rounds yet. His music was slowly spreading across the north. The first time he'd heard one of his songs being sung by another person, he nearly cried. It was more than he could have hoped for. He only hoped that tomorrow night would meet his expectations. 

*******

Jaskier's stomach was in knots as they were escorted through the palace towards the main hall. Geralt walked at his side with all the joy of a man heading towards his execution. The large room was already full of people. Princess Pavetta sat at the head table with an expression of mournful distress on her delicate features, like she'd rather be anywhere than here. Jaskier felt a sudden pang of regret that he'd agreed to come. She looked miserable. The hall was full of boasting, prancing nobles, each trying to outdo each other as they measured the worth of their competition for Pavetta's hand. He felt a small tug of something in his gut when he looked at the princess again. He wasn't sure what it was, and he did he best to ignore it as he turned to Geralt.

“Now, just grab a beer and find a corner to hover in. With any luck, nobody will recognize you and you won't be bothered.”

“Geralt of Rivia!” A bearded man with dark hair raised his tankard. “The Mighty Witcher!” he bellowed joyously. Everyone in the hall turned to look in their direction.

“Shit.” 

So much for Geralt going unnoticed. Jaskier stood by as Geralt was whisked away by the stranger who apparently hadn't seen him since the plague, whenever that was. Though he didn't know it yet, this was just the first in a string of events that would make Jaskier regret that they'd come. He was left to his own devices to set up on one side of the raised dais where the head table sat. There was a troop of musicians and he briefly consulted with them. Most of them were familiar with his work and he was optimistic that the night would go well. But then he was accosted by a noble who'd mistaken him for a pimply assed man who'd slept with his wife. Geralt came handily to his rescue with a dubious excuse that had Jaskier glowering. Eunuch indeed. 

Before Jaskier got a chance to start playing, Calanthe came bursting into the room with brutal fanfare and immediately noticed Geralt. He looked grumpy but resigned as he accepted her invitation to sit a at the head table. Perhaps he'd hold his own well enough. Jaskier knew it wasn't the first time he'd dealt with royalty and there wasn't anything he could do for him from here. This wasn't going quite the way Jaskier planned. Then the queen threw him off his game by refusing to let him start his first song. He had a brief moment of panic before he looked at the musicians and gave them a new beat and started playing something else. 

Jaskier was annoyed that the queen seemed to want a 'jig' instead of his planned performance. But he'd make due. She'd come in wearing bloodied armor and a vicious grin of victory. He didn't want to cross her. He started out with standard fare, but after hearing the conversations throughout the hall, Jaskier shifted to more salacious songs. It got a hell of a response and he felt himself grinning. He'd give her a 'jig' if she wanted one, and proceeded to sing every bawdy song he knew.

Things got _really_ interesting when the helmeted knight came in and started a fight.

Jaskier's hands stilled on the strings as the tensions in the room rose. Half of the guests were terrified and the others were raring for a fight. They'd been winding each other up all night and the heated exchanges were just about to boil over. Pavetta looked stricken with panic and Jaskier felt something tightening in his chest while the tug in his gut he'd felt earlier pulled again. It wasn't unlike the sensation of using magic. 

But his music had been tame and non-magical as far as he knew, so he had no idea where it was coming from. Geralt wasn't giving him meaningful looks from where he was sitting in a silent request for him to control himself. Instead, the Witcher was staring at the unmasked hedgehog man with with narrowed eyes, like he was trying to figure out what kind of curse had been laid upon him. Geralt kept shaking his head and refusing whatever Calanthe was asking him to do. She hadn't seemed surprised by the knight's sudden appearance. Is that why she'd wanted a Witcher here? 

When the fight really got underway, the musicians looked terrified as they backed up against the wall. Jaskier joined them as he tried to stay out of the way. Urcheon was really quite good, and except for a couple of slips, he managed to keep up with Geralt as they fended off attackers. The queen entered the fray it all looked like it was going to resolve itself. Things were calming and she had relinquished her sword. And then she tried to kill Urcheon in a rather distasteful underhanded move. 

The world shook when Pavetta screamed.

Her voice echoed in Jaskier's head, making all sounds fade into static in the background. He barely felt it when he was slammed into the wall. Pavetta's voice rose as she chanted words that had no meaning to Jaskier. It sounded like some form of Elder speech, but he didn't understand it. He would have slumped to the floor with everyone else, but he felt like he was held up against the wall by the buffeting winds and the wild magic swirling around the room. It tugged and pulled at him from the inside. When he tried to speak, his breath was stolen away. He was actually starting to get lightheaded, but before he could pass out, it stopped abruptly and he was dropped to the tiles in a heap.

Jaskier lay stunned as he tried to regain his bearings. It wasn't over. Something was still happening even though everything in the room was still. People were picking themselves back up slowly with dazed expressions on their faces. The room was in ruin. Jaskier sat up carefully and saw a mess of shattered glass and broken furniture. Geralt was staring at Jaskier intently like he'd come charging over at any moment if he needed him. Jaskier shook his head and waved a hand at him to say he was okay. But he wasn't sure what was happening. 

The wedding was brief, as far as ceremonies went. It was basically a declaration that Duny and Pavetta were now a couple. No promises were made and no vows were exchanged. Calanthe's word was literally law. Tying herself to Eist seemed to be a bonus, and from the the way she and the Jarl had been eyeing each other all night, it was obvious that they'd been smitten for some time. It appeared that the wedding was just a formality in that regard. Then the air tightened and Jaskier felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. Ordinarily, he would have been watching with bated breath as Duny transformed from a monstrous hedgehog to a comely human man, but Jaskier was too distracted by the itch of magic in the air. It was like standing on the edge of a precipice and staring down into the abyss.

When Geralt claimed the Law of Surprise, it reverberated like a giant bell being struck, vibrating along Jaskier's skin and settling deep in his bones. He had a brief moment to feel his eyes rolling back before he collapsed to the floor and everything went dark. 

*******

The little girl with ashen hair was standing at the prow of a ship with the wind blowing in her face. She looked back at Jaskier over her shoulder with a expression of joy as she reveled in the freedom of being at sea. Jaskier hadn't dreamed of her since that first time three years ago. He now realized that she looked like a younger version of Pavetta. Was this the princess as a child? 

“Can you hear it?” she asked him.

“Hear what?” 

“It's coming.”

“What's coming?” 

“Destiny.”

*******

Jaskier woke with a start, his heart hammering in his chest. 

“I told you I'd regret this,” Geralt muttered from somewhere to his left.

“What happened?” Jaskier mumbled.

“You passed out from magic burn. That's twice now in two weeks.”

“I wasn't even using magic this time,” Jaskier said as he sat up. His muscles felt stiff and tight. “And what the hell were you thinking, claiming the Law of Surprise? Next time ask for money. It's much less complicated.” 

“I'll remember that the next time I'm manipulated into making an appearance at court.” Geralt's voice was extremely flat and Jaskier didn't have a reply.

“What did you get, anyway? Do you know yet?”

The other man was silent and Jaskier looked up at him from where he moved to sit on the edge of the bed. They were in an unfamiliar room, but from the stonework, he was guessing it was somewhere in the palace. His lute was sitting safe in its case next to him on the bed and he pulled it closer to him.

“Well?”

“A child.” 

“What? What the hell does that mean?”

“Pavetta is pregnant,” Geralt said his tone low and full of remorse. 

“So. You're like. . .her child's what? Godfather or something?” Jaskier's knowledge of the Law of Surprise was fairly limited, but he remembered what Lambert had told him. “Wait. You aren't seriously considering taking her kid and turning it into a Witcher, are you?” 

“No. I only stayed long enough for you to wake up. We're leaving and I'm never coming back here.” There was a finality to his voice that said he had no intention of setting foot in Cintra again. He picked up Jaskier's lute. “Can you stand?”

“I think so.” Jaskier's head was already clearing, but he felt something in the back of his mind. It was an unfamiliar feeling, like a small buzzing at the edge of his hearing. He stood gingerly and took stock of himself before trying to walk. Geralt's arm slid around his waist and he steered him out of the room and into the hall. It was still dark outside. They almost made it out into the courtyard by the front gate when the bearded man from earlier called out to them.

“Are you really leaving?” he asked.

“We're going, Mousesack,” Geralt told him as he kept walking with Jaskier in tow. “You can stay if you wish, but I already told you. The child can stay here forever for all I care.”

“Destiny drew you here. It's unwise to ignore it.”

Jaskier felt his gut clench and he stopped walking so he could turn around to look at Mousesack. “What did you just say?”

“Destiny does not like to be thwarted. It is unwise to ignore it when it calls to you.” He was giving Jaskier a strange look that made him uncomfortable. “Are you sure you're feeling well enough to travel? You collapsed rather suddenly.”

“I'm fine.” Jaskier felt the sudden need to leave. But he also wanted to stay. He wasn't sure what to do, but Geralt started pulling him along again, making the decision for him. When Jaskier's steps weren't fast enough, Geralt slung the lute across his own back before scooping Jaskier up into his arms and kept walking. Nobody tried to stop them. 

“I'm perfectly capable of walking,” Jaskier muttered as he laid his head on Geralt's shoulder and wrapped his arms around his neck. It had been a while since he'd carried him like this and he sighed. He really was tired. 

“Not fast enough.”

If anyone thought it was odd to see a white haired Witcher carrying someone through the streets in the middle of the night, they didn't say anything. There were a handful of drunken revelers that had spilled out from the palace, but they were relatively quiet and moving off towards their own destinations. By the time they reached the inn, Jaskier was nearly asleep. He was barely aware of Geralt stripping him out of his clothes and putting him to bed. 

“We're not leaving the city?” Jaskier mumbled sleepily.

“Not until morning,” Geralt said as he slipped into bed beside him. “The city gates are closed for the night. We'll go in the morning.”

“'Kay.” Breathing deeply, Jaskier pressed into him and slipped into a deep, dreamless sleep.


	6. Bitten

Jaskier and Geralt headed out of the city at first light. The revels were still going on and probably would continue for a week or more to celebrate the paired unions of the princess and their queen. Jaskier would have loved to stay. Before coming to the Wood, he'd dreamed of events like this. He could have spent days performing for crowds and smaller venues, traveling around the city with lute in hand. But the strangeness of the events that transpired last night had soured the idea. Jaskier still felt that soft tug in his belly and it seemed to pull tighter the farther they got from the capitol. He tried to concentrate and move it into the background, but it cost him. The third time he fell behind Roach, Geralt shoved Jaskier into the saddle and mounted behind him.

“Sorry,” Jaskier mumbled as he leaned back against Geralt's chest. 

“Hn. It's easier this way. I won't have to worry about you falling asleep on your feet or tripping and falling into a canyon.”

Jaskier huffed and lightly slapped Geralt's hand where it rested on his waist. “It was only one time.” 

“You nearly died. Once was enough.”

“So what happened back there? I felt. . .something odd before I passed out.” He wasn't quite sure how to describe it.

“I wasn't paying attention. When you collapsed, nothing else mattered.” 

Jaskier felt warmth bloom in his belly. For all his grumpy complaints and standoffish distance, Geralt was soft and emotional on the inside. He just hid it well. And where Jaskier was concerned, he was extremely protective no matter how much he grumbled about it.

“Where to now?” He didn't really think Geralt would stay out of Cintra forever, but it was way too soon to talk about it.

“North. We'll stick to the woods and lesser paths for now.”

“Really?” While Jaskier enjoyed the woods, the idea of spending weeks camping rough suddenly held far less appeal. “We could head east along the Yaruga. It would be faster. Then we could head north through Temeria.” And there were far more settlements in that area which would increase the chances of sleeping in a bed.

“The less civilization we travel through, the better.”

“Why?”

Geralt sighed. “Calanthe will most likely send someone to make sure I don't return to Cintra,” he said quietly.

“Wait. What!? Would she really. . .” Jaskier turned in the saddle to look at Geralt and saw calm resignation in his eyes. Yes, he believed she would. The intense woman who'd held off a hall full of drunken, violent suitors with unshed tears in her eyes and protective vengeance in her heart would definitely send assassins if it suited her. Jaskier signed and turned back around to settle himself in the saddle more comfortably. “She wanted you there to kill him, didn't she?” 

“Yes.” And he didn't sound happy about it.

“I'm sorry,” Jaskier said again.

“You didn't force me. I chose to go. I make my own decisions, though I wouldn't have gone if I'd known what a pile of shit it would turn into.”

“And you're really going to abandon the kid?”

“It's no concern of mine. The child will remain in Cintra and they can do whatever they want with it. I don't get involved.”

“But what about Destiny?” Jaskier asked as the pulling sensation in his gut tugged again. He didn't point out that Geralt got involved all the time. He'd hem and haw about Witchers being neutral and then he'd barge his way into a problem and end up in the middle of it.

“As I've said before, Destiny is a myth. Mousesack sees mundane things and declares them to be cataclysmic, world shaking events. But it's nothing.”  
Jaskier wasn't so sure of that. “Who is he?”

“A Druid from Skellige. Though from the sound of it, he's tied himself to Cintra indefinitely. He thinks he can guide the princess and help her tame her gifts.” He sounded doubtful.

“Is he the friend you mentioned?”

“Hn. There's no need to go to Skellige now.”

Jaskier hated the sound of disappointment in the other man's voice and cursed himself for turning him down so quickly before when he'd mentioned sailing to the isles. He'd have to make it up to him somehow. 

*******

They traveled for several days before taking on any contracts or stopping anywhere there were people. Geralt didn't want to leave an easy trail for any potential pursuers to follow. As they came out from the treeline into a field one morning, they saw a small farm with modest fields and handful of animals. Jaskier heard Geralt take a deep breath and glanced up from where he walked beside Roach to see his nostrils flaring. 

“What is it?” 

“Something has been through here. I'm not sure what.”

A young man was kneeling in a small pen with a rough-hewn fence made of woven branches. He was examining the body of a goat that lay limp at his feet. The other three goats were cowering in the corner by the small lean-to that held their food trough. He glanced up at their arrival warily until his eyes settled on Geralt.

“Gods be praised,” he murmured. “Are you a Witcher, Sir?” he asked hesitantly.

“I am.” Geralt brought Roach to a stop a few feet away from the pen and Jaskier stopped beside her.

“We've heard the songs, but I never thought I'd see the White Wolf in person. Would you be available to take a contract?”

“Depends on the contract. And I don't work for free.” Geralt didn't acknowledge Jaskier's triumphant grin. Once again, his reputation had preceded him in a good way thanks to the songs he'd been singing.

“Of course, of course,” the farmer said. “We don't have much in terms of coin, but we could also offer some cheese and dried venison for the road.”

“What's the job?” 

Jaskier knew Geralt was bargaining for the sake of appearances. He'd most likely considered looking around for beast even before the farmer asked. The young man spread his hands to encompass the enclosure and the cowering goats. 

“We've lost three goats in the last couple weeks.” His hand rested lightly on the fallen animal's neck. There was a bit of blood, but no obvious wounds Jaskier could see at this distance. “Found Hadley dead this morning,” the farmer continued. “We can't afford to lose our entire flock, and I'm afraid whatever is killing them won't stop at goats.” In the nearby barn, the sound of cows fussing could be heard. But he was probably worried about his family as well. A woman stood in the doorway of the nearby house and Jaskier could see a small child peeking out from behind her skirt.

“Twenty crowns and the supplies you mentioned after the job is done,” Geralt said. It was a paltry sum, but he rarely took more than petitioners could afford, especially if they had families that depended on them. 

“Deal.”

“What happened to the other goats?”

“Same as this one. They were dead in the pen and the others were scared. Couldn't tell what killed them. Burned the bodies so they wouldn't attract carrion eaters.” There was already a fire burning in a stone lined pit nearby.

“You got any problems with necrophages?”

“No, thank the gods, we don't,” the farmer said as he stood. “It's badgers mostly. They cause all manner of damage.”

“ _Badgers_ ,” Jaskier said, his tone incredulous.

“Don't underestimate the danger of mundane animals,” Geralt said as he dismounted and handed Jaskier the reigns. 

“Because of course, it's not just monsters that will eat me. Now I have to worry about badgers,” Jaskier muttered. 

“You can stay with us while your Witcher hunts” the farmer said as he came out of the pen and held out his hand. “I'm Dietrich. That's my wife Matilda and my son Fabian.” He shook Jaskier's hand.

“Thank you for your generosity,” Jaskier said with a nod. “I'm Jaskier.”

“Jaskier the Bard? Begging your pardon, Sir, but do you know any stories fit for little ears? My boy heard your ballad about the Dwarves and the Dragon last month and he talks of little else.”

Jaskier grinned over at the boy who was waving at him enthusiastically from the doorway. Only his mother's hand on his shoulder kept him from darting out into the yard. She didn't look afraid, but she was wary, which was understandable. It wasn't typically safe to open your arms blindly to strangers.

“I believe I know a few tales that would suffice,” he said. Jaskier turned to Geralt. “Be careful and all that,” he said as the other man knelt down next to the fallen goat. He didn't have to wait long before he was seemingly done investigating. “You know what it is already?”

“Hn. Dietrich, is there room in your barn for my horse?” 

“Of course. I've an extra stall that's clean and dry,” Dietrich said. 

Geralt opened up the saddle bags and started digging around, probably for potions. He pulled out a couple of bottles and tucked them into slots in his belt. “Once you've stabled her, stay on the farm close to the house. Don't go anywhere until I come back, and get inside behind locked doors after nightfall.”

Jaskier moved in close to speak quietly. “How scary are we talking?” He didn't like it when Geralt got so quietly intense. It usually meant that whatever he was hunting would require all of his focus. 

“Something that's killing goats and isn't above eating annoying bards.” Judging by his tone, he wasn't interested in arguing and didn't feel he had enough time explain anything. “If I'm not back by nightfall, don't leave the house until the sun rises again.”

“Alright.” 

Geralt reached out to grip Jaskier's chin lightly and tilted his head up to look him in the eye. “I mean it, Jaskier. Do _not_ follow me.”

“I won't.” Jaskier curled his fingers gently around Geralt's wrist. During the years they'd traveled together, he'd learned when to push and when to stay behind. “I promise. I'm an occasional idiot, not a complete moron. What is it? Please be honest.”

“A vampire, but I'm not sure what kind,” Geralt murmured. “I'm going to try to get it before dark. If I can't, I'll come back and try again tomorrow during daylight.”

“Right, then,” Jaskier said. He tried to keep his tone light as he turned to Dietrich. “Lead the way, my good man. We'll find a way to occupy ourselves until my dear Witcher has returned.” Dietrich seemed a little nervous and Jaskier gave him his best smile. “It will be fine,” he said and fought not to grimace. How many times had he said that only to have things go pear shaped?

“This way. I believe we have some spare oats as well,” Dietrich said as he put a smile on his own face. Jaskier saw a man who was scared but was hiding it for the sake of his family. He could respect that. Jaskier watched Geralt sniff the air before moving off into the trees before following Dietrich into the barn.

Once Roach was settled with food and water in the roomy stall, Dietrich disposed of the fallen goat. Then they moved into the house with Dietrich's wife and son. Jaskier sang the ballad about Ocvist the Destroyer, an ancient albino dragon who was bested by the Dwarf Yarpen Zigrin and his fellows. He'd built upon the tale Yarpen told him when they first met and it was one of his most popular songs. Yarpen had declared him a worthy storyteller when he heard it the first time and promised to buy him drinks any time they crossed paths in the future. It was high praise from a Dwarf. 

Fabian was delighted and waved a wooden toy sword in the air, miming the actions of the Dwarves in the story as Jaskier sang. His mother softened at the sight of her son's joy and offered to mend anything Jaskier might have that needed repairs. Geralt had just torn one of his shirts the other day, so the offer came at an opportune time. Jaskier hadn't had a chance to repair it himself yet. He'd been putting it off because his skills were amateur at best and they would likely lead to untold grumbling from the Witcher.

“I'll be right back,” he said as he set down his lute and headed toward the door.

“But the Witcher said to stay inside,” Dietrich said warily.

“He told us not to leave the farm and to stay inside after dark. I'm just going to the barn that's twenty feet away. It will only take a moment and I'll be right back.” Besides, it was noon and Vampires were nocturnal. It wasn't going to go wandering around in the daytime. At least that's what Jaskier tried to tell himself as he headed across the yard towards the barn. But all of the animals were calm. Surely they'd be distressed if there was a monster in the area. 

Roach stood placidly while he got into Geralt's pack where it hung from a hook on the wall and pulled out the shirt. When she nickered nervously and stamped her hooves, Jaskier stilled his movements. He didn't hear anything, but the felt his hackles rise as he clutched the torn shirt in his hands. It was just nerves. Probably.

He looked up into the rafters suddenly, his heart pounding. But there was nothing there. Jaskier blew out a nervous breath, and started singing to himself to calm his nerves. It was fine. Geralt had been gone for a couple of hours now, so he probably wasn't going to be back any time soon. Jaskier paused again at the sound of something scraping on wood. It could have been claws. Or maybe it was one of the animals brushing against their stall. Gripping the shirt in his hand, Jaskier turned toward the door and bit back a scream. A man was standing in the doorway peering into the shadowed barn.

“Oh, I'm sorry,” the man said. “Didn't mean to startle you.” He had sandy hair and warm brown eyes. His shirt and trousers were made of simple homespun, and he was barefoot, which seemed odd, but Jaskier wasn't sure why. 

Jaskier put a hand on his chest over his heart, and fought to get his breathing under control. “It's okay. I'm just little jumpy, I guess. Can I help you?” 

“I was just passing by and heard you singing. You have a beautiful voice,” he said with a shy smile on his face. 

“Uh, thanks.” To Jaskier, he seemed innocuous enough, but there was something about the man that made him nervous. His pulse was still fluttering and something told him to keep his distance. If he looked at him just right, there seemed to be a shimmer around his outline, like he was hiding his true appearance. Jaskier could see through most charms and illusions, but this one seemed to be stronger. As if confirming his suspicions, Roach let out another nervous whuffle and kicked at the stall door. Jaskier backed up a step and the man's smile became a little condescending.

“What gave me away? Was it the horse?”

“Don't hurt them,” Jaskier said, trying not to sound like he was begging.

“Who, Dietrich and his family?” The man waved the thought away. “I've no interest in them.”

Well that seemed to confirm that he was the Vampire. “So what were the goats?” Jaskier asked. “A tasty snack?” 

There was a sudden rush of air and Jaskier blinked to see the Vampire right in front of him. He opened his mouth to yell only to find himself pinned to a wooden beam with a hand clamped tightly over his mouth. “You look human,” the Vampire murmured as he leaned in to press his nose against Jaskier's throat. Jaskier whimpered and huffed a breath through his nose. “But you don't smell human.” 

“Jaskier?” Dietrich called out to him from somewhere near the house. He'd been gone too long. 

Jaskier tried to pry the Vampire's hand off his mouth, but couldn't even begin to make him budge. He let out a muffled warning. 

“Shhhh.” The Vampire pressed his thumb against the side of Jaskier's neck. Blackness quickly closed in on him as his vision faded. As he went limp, he felt himself being lifted and then there was nothing.

*******

Jaskier woke feeling groggy and sore, and the left side of his neck ached terribly. His hands were bound behind him and he'd been gagged with a strip of fabric that had been pulled tightly between his teeth. He caught Geralt's scent. The fucker had ripped up Geralt's shirt and tied him up with it. He wasn't blindfolded, but it was dark enough that it was hard to see anything. His vision was better than a human's, but it was still useless when there was no light at all. He bit back a whimper when something scraped across the floor somewhere in front of him.

“You taste. . .unbelievably good,” came a hissing murmur, like the voice was speaking around too many teeth. “You're young, but your blood is old, and positively dripping with magic. Like fine, aged wine.” 

Jaskier's breath began to shudder as he lay on the floor. Had it bitten him? The pain in his neck seemed to flare for a moment. He didn't dare move. He thought he saw a shadowed shape shifting somewhere in front of him. It was humanoid, but it wasn't human. The shoulders were too wide and the head far too large. It was vaguely familiar, and he'd probably seen a picture of it in one of the bestiaries he'd looked at in Kaer Morhen. Jaskier closed his eyes and shuddered. It was probably going to kill him and he didn't need to watch. A light flickered, startling him and he felt a hand caress his cheek. 

“There's no reason to be scared. I'm not going to kill you. That would be a waste.” The Vampire's voice sounded more clear now and less monstrous.

Jaskier opened his eyes as his torso was lifted up so he could sit against the wall. The Vampire knelt in front of him looking human with a mildly apologetic look on his face. They were in an underground room that looked like some sort of root cellar. Wooden beams framed the space and there was a cobblestone fireplace built into one of the packed, earthen walls with a chimney that vented the smoke up and out. A small fire was burning, creating flickering shadows and he was sitting on a pile of furs. 

“My apologies for being such a poor host. I didn't expect to have company today.”

Jaskier just eyed him and didn't make a sound. He bit a the fabric in his mouth and twisted his hands in the bindings. His ankles were free, but there was nowhere to go. He didn't even see any doors at first glance. And the Vampire was fast enough that he wouldn't get far if he somehow managed to escape. He pressed back into the wall and his breath quickened as the Vampire moved in again to nuzzle his neck. A mewling whine left him as he felt sharp sting of teeth breaking the skin. Strong fingers threaded through his hair and gripped him tightly to keep him still. As he felt consciousness slipping away from him again, he thought about Geralt and how angry he'd be when he found him missing.


	7. Out of the Den and into the Bower

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Small bit of housekeeping. I have updated the commenting for this series to only allow registered users to leave comments. Apologies to all the lovely guests who have left me kind words and will no longer be able to do so. Almost everyone has been polite and positive in their comments, but on the rare occasion when someone is rude, it's always an anonymous guest that I can't reply to directly. I've only had to delete two rude, anonymous comments so far, but I really don't want to receive any more. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has been reading and commenting so far. I really do appreciate being able to share this with all of you.

When Jaskier woke again, his hands were free and the gag had been removed. He lay curled on his side quietly for a few moments to gauge his surroundings. His head was pounding and his mouth was dry. There was a faint tingling in his neck, but it didn't hurt anymore.

“You sing in your sleep,” the Vampire said. 

Jaskier's pulse quickened and he couldn't quite stop the shudder that went through him.

“Relax,” the Vampire soothed. 

Jaskier opened his eyes and sat up carefully on the pile furs. He raised a hand to the left side of his neck and felt smooth, unbroken skin. 

“That healing skill is quite a trick. But you're not a mage,” the Vampire said from where he was sitting next to the fireplace. There was a book sitting in his lap.

Jaskier said nothing. He glanced at the food and water sitting on a tray next to him, but made no move to touch it. 

“Don't be stubborn. You must be thirsty.”

“What are you?” Jaskier's throat was unbearably dry and it hurt to swallow. 

“You're dehydrated. Drink the water to replenish the fluids you've lost.”

“You. . .you drank my blood.” Jaskier's lips thinned as his heart skipped a beat.

The Vampire let out a heavy sigh. “If you don't take care of yourself, I will have to force feed you. It would be unpleasant for both of us.” His matter of fact tone told Jaskier that he meant what he said. 

Jaskier looked at his hands where they rested in his lap. His turquoise silks were rumpled and creased from where he'd slept in them. He wasn't dead yet, so it must want him for something. His heart stuttered again as he hoped that he hadn't become part of the Vampire's pantry. Pouring water from the jug into the cup that sat next to it, he drank and found it to be clean and sweet. He emptied the cup and poured himself another before taking a deep breath. The tray held bread, cheese, and two apples. He was starving and he finished all of it.

“There. Isn't that better?”

Jaskier sat back against the wall and stared at the Vampire. “Now what?” He jerked back as he was suddenly pinned against the wall. The Vampire moved faster than his eyes could track. It was almost like he teleported. “Please.” Jaskier's voice was barely a whisper. 

Gentle fingers caressed his neck. “It's too soon. I don't want to hurt you.”

“You _bit_ me,” Jaskier huffed. “I hate to be the one to tell you, but that fucking hurts.”

“An unfortunate necessity,” the Vampire murmured. “You're rejuvenative abilities are remarkable. I was drawn by your voice, but your ability to heal yourself was an unexpected surprise.”

Jaskier turned his head away, suddenly very uncomfortable with the creature's proximity. “So you're just going to keep me here for when you feel peckish?”

The Vampire moved back a bit and looked around. “This is just temporary. We could move to a city. I could live among people again. I think I'd like that. With you at my side, I wouldn't have to risk exposing myself needlessly.”

“I'm not going anywhere with you.”

“I didn't say you had to be willing,” the Vampire said, his voice low and threatening. There was a feral glint in its eyes that made Jaskier shiver. He was intelligent, but Jaskier was beginning to wonder how stable he was. He had to be careful. The Vampire ran his tongue over his teeth. “But first I need to deal with the Witcher. He's really quite persistent.”

Jaskier stiffened. 

“Hmm. Yes, I know you've been traveling with him. His stink is all over you.” 

“He won't stop looking for me.” The words came out before Jaskier could stop himself. Not that Geralt would have to look very hard. Back when they'd first started traveling together, Geralt had put a tracking charm in one of Jaskier's boots to make it easier to find him when they were separated. 

“That will save me quite a bit of trouble. Don't worry. I'll deal with him and then we can move on. Perhaps somewhere to the south. Far less likely to run into Witchers there.” He picked up the strips of fabric that had been tossed aside. Jaskier tried to back away, but he was quickly pinned down so the Vampire could bind his hands behind him. He let out a muffled yell when he was gagged again. “Hush. Can't have him finding you before I find him.” A another, wider strip of fabric was smoothed over Jaskier's mouth, further muffling his voice. The Vampire smoothed Jaskier's mussed hair away from his forehead, almost tenderly. And then he moved in a blink again, disappearing through a hatch in the corner of ceiling. It had to be eight feet in the air and their was no ladder. 

Jaskier lay on his stomach, breathing hard through his nose for a moment as he rested his cheek on the furs and stared into the dying fire trying to calm himself. He couldn't let it hurt Geralt. Rolling onto his side, he tested the bindings. The fabric was wide enough as not to cut into his skin, but it was fairly tight. He looked around the room to see if he could find something to help him cut or tear it. The tray was made out of rough wood with rounded edges. The water jug might work if he could find a way to break it, but it was heavy and the crockery was probably too thick to crack without throwing or smashing it. Jaskier's current position didn't give him enough leverage for that.

He started twisting his wrists carefully. Struggling while he was being bound had helped keep it from being too tight, but the fabric had been looped around his wrists and knotted before the ends were wrapped around and tied again. Jaskier managed to loosen the wrap, but he couldn't quite loosen the remaining knots. He shifted his hips and pulled with his hands to the point his wrists ached. It always looked much easier on TV and in the movies he'd watched back in Lettenhove, but he was finally able to slide his arms down around his legs. It was tight and he grunted in pain as the ties pulled hard on his skin, but he finally succeeded in getting his hands in front of him. Jaskier lay on his back for a moment, humming to himself until the burning ache in his wrists eased. 

He pulled the gag away and bit at the fabric tying his wrists with his teeth until he was able to get loose completely. Now he had to find a way out of the cellar. He couldn't reach the hatch and there was nothing to grab onto when he jumped up to reach. His fingers brushed the wood, but it didn't budge under the light touch. He really needed a ladder or some sort of handholds. The room was framed by smooth wooden beams and the cobblestone fireplace was too far away. But the walls were made of packed earth. Pouring himself one last drink, Jaskier smashed the jug against the fireplace. A large piece broke away, leaving a sharp edge around the handle that would give him something to hold onto. 

He started digging into the hard packed earth to make hand and footholds so he could get closer to the hatch. He was just lucky the opening was in the corner against the wall. If it had been in the center of the room, he'd be stuck down here until the Vampire decided to pull him out. He wasn't going to wait for him to come back and he definitely wasn't going to let himself become some monster's personal snack. He shuddered a the thought of being drained slowly, only to heal himself so the Vampire could suck on his neck and do it all over again. 

He wasn't sure how long it took him to make something workable, but his fingers were aching by the time he'd dug indentations that were big enough to help him climb. When he worked his way up the wall, he found the hatch unlocked and he pushed it open easily. The Vampire probably didn't think he'd be able to reach it. He gripped the edge of the opening and cursed his lack of upper body strength. He hadn't dug any footholds high enough to help him climb up farther. He'd only thought about getting high enough to reach the hatch, but Jaskier wasn't staying here a second longer than necessary. The longer he lingered, the more likely it was that the Vampire would come back. And when he found Jaskier had gotten loose, it would probably make sure he'd never get a second chance to escape. 

Pulling up with a strength born of desperation, Jaskier hauled himself up over the edge and braced his forearms on the floor with his legs hanging down. He shimmied his way onto the rough wooden planks by kicking and dragging his torso forward. When his legs cleared the opening, he rolled away from the hatch and up onto his hands and knees. The run-down shack looked abandoned and his clothes were now smeared with dirt and dust. Twilight made the interior dim and Jaskier got up carefully to head toward the door. He didn't see or hear anyone. Outside, the surrounding trees made the darkening gloom deeper. There was only a thin sliver of moon tonight and soon it would be incredibly dark. 

Jaskier had no idea where he was. He could just see the sun lowering to the west, but he didn't know where this place was located in relation to the farm. He desperately hoped the Vampire hadn't hurt Dietrich or his family. But he knew he couldn't stay here, so he headed north. That's the direction he and Geralt had been heading before all this. Maybe he'd find some place on the way that would allow him to get his bearings. The forest was thick and dark as he walked and it was far spookier now that he was traveling alone. Every time he heard a noise, he'd freeze and hold his breath, doing his best not to draw attention to himself. Twice, he let out a small cry because a damned rabbit ran out of the bushes in front him. He was so tense that any noise made him jump out of his skin. 

Just as he was able to calm himself down, he was tackled to the ground by something huge. Jaskier screamed, long and loud until a hand covered his mouth tightly. He continued screaming behind it, the muffled sound echoing through the bushes. The thing holding him wasn't human. He felt a huge hulking shape pinning him to the carpet of dead leaves and fur tickled the back of his neck.

“You're more clever than I thought,” the Vampire hissed through inhuman teeth. “I'll have to be more careful if I'm to keep you.” 

The beast twitched, its attention drawn by something Jaskier couldn't see. It got up, hauling Jaskier with it. He struggled, but it had an arm clamped tightly around his waist and the hand at his mouth held his head still. Jaskier continued yelling, hoping that whatever had spooked the Vampire could hear him. But he wasn't sure if wanted to call for help or warn them away. When he saw Geralt's outline in the shadows of the trees, he renewed his struggles. The Vampire growled and squeezed Jaskier painfully tight until his screams trailed off in a whimper. 

“Let him go,” Geralt growled. His voice was low and guttural the way it was when he used the potions that made his eyes turn black. 

“I don't think I will,” the Vampire hissed as it started to back away, dragging Jaskier with it. “I've not tasted anything so flavorful.” A rough tongue licked up Jaskier's neck, making him squirm and whine. His heart was thundering in his chest, and his breathing sped up despite his efforts to remain calm. He couldn't afford to be bitten and lose consciousness again.

“I might have let you walk away if you'd just stuck to goats,” Geralt rumbled dangerously. “Harm him and I'll make it hurt first.”

“I thought Witchers were solitary creatures. He can't be of use to you the way he is to me.” It licked Jaskier again and dragged its teeth lightly across his skin. “Find another one.”

Geralt didn't answer as he started to circle them slowly and tried to look for an opening. 

“This will only take a moment,” the Vampire murmured in Jaskier's ear before his fangs sank deeply into his neck. 

Jaskier screamed again behind the Vampire's hand. It hurt so much. He was vaguely aware of Geralt yelling something before the Vampire squealed sharply and dropped him. Jaskier clapped a hand to his bleeding neck and tried to sing, but it hurt too much. The skin under his fingers was tight and swollen. He crawled out of the way and pressed himself into the base of a nearby tree as he tried to swallow around the growing tightness in his throat. He was worried that his air would be cut off but it didn't seem to be quite that bad. Yet.

He could barely see what was going on, but he could make out the shapes of Geralt and the Vampire fighting. There was a flash of fire as Geralt used a Witcher sign. It illuminated the hulking shape briefly, showing Jaskier a horrible humanoid bat creature. It must be the true form of the Vampire that he'd caught a glimpse of in the cellar. He'd seen pictures, but couldn't remember any names. And then it was dark again as the fire faded, leaving him momentarily blinded in the sudden darkness as his eyes struggled to adjust to the low light. He couldn't tell if Geralt was winning or not. Occasionally, the Witcher would grunt in pain, but then there would be the meaty sound of something being cut followed by an ear piercing squeal. Jaskier's throat burned and his vision wavered, but he fought to stay conscious.

Geralt cried out and there was a loud thump and a metallic clatter. Jaskier could hear him choking. In the waning light, he saw Geralt's sword in the leaves right in front of him. It must have been knocked out of his hand and now the Vampire was killing him. Curling his shaking fingers around the hilt, Jaskier stood and struggled to lift the blade. It was heavier than it looked and he had trouble lifting it. He could barely make out the shape of Geralt and the Vampire and he was scared that he'd hit the wrong target. But the monster was leaning down over the fallen Witcher who was pinned to the ground with the Vampire's hands clamped around his neck. Jaskier raised the sword and brought it down. The best he was hoping for was to distract the thing so he could give the sword back to Geralt. 

The Vampire caught the blade in its taloned hand. 

“Wait your turn,” it hissed before shoving the sword hard. Jaskier flew back, and slammed into a tree and the sword flew out of his hands into the darkness. 

“Jaskier,” Geralt gritted out. “Run.” 

Jaskier lay dazed as he slumped down to the ground. It was getting harder to breathe and his breaths started rasping in his slowly closing throat. He heard three distinct thunking sounds and the Vampire squealed again. It reared up to claw at faintly glowing arrows that were sticking out of its back. Three more slammed into its chest as it tried to scrabble backwards. Dark stains spread out from where they stuck out of its skin. More arrows found their target until the Vampire looked like a large misshapen hedgehog. Several slender figures darted forward silently in the darkness and used their spears to finish the job. It took a long time for the Vampire to go silent. When it was finally done, it was quiet again. Geralt wasn't moving.

“Gu. . .” Jaskier rasped. The effort made him break off in a choking cough. He tried to crawl forward but only managed to slump onto his side. One of the figures knelt down next to him and he felt cool, slender fingers on his forehead. She asked him something, but he couldn't quite make out what it was. The others were kneeling over Geralt and Jaskier reached out. He wasn't quite sure what he thought he was going to do. But when they took a closer look at the Witcher, there was flurry of movement and quiet whispers in a dialect Jaskier had to concentrate to understand. 

Something cool was spread over Jaskier's throat and he was able to take deeper breaths. “Please,” he whispered when he could speak again. The woman next to him went still and leaned down over him. He couldn't quite make out her features in the dark. “Please help him.”

Slim fingers were laid lightly upon his lips to hush him. “Rest. Gwynbleidd will survive.”

Jaskier kissed her fingertips. “Thank you.” And then he slept.

*******

Jaskier drifted through a deep, dark forest that was older than any place he'd set foot before. He'd been here before in a different dream when he'd been chasing after the ashen haired girl. There was no sign of her now. He could only hear the whisper of the trees and the deep hum of magic. It almost felt like he was swimming in it, it felt so strong. The trees were trying to tell him something, but he couldn't quite understand. So he sang. He sang of the forest and trees whose roots reached to the center of the earth. Of branches reaching out through time and space to live beyond those who sought to cut it down. The trees seemed to sigh in contentment. 

“The forest calls to you,” a deep female voice said. 

Jaskier snapped awake with a gasp to find a woman standing over him. Her skin had a greenish hue that blended into the forest surrounding them, and her molten, silver hair flowed like mercury over her shoulders and down to her waist. Her long, gossamer robes brushed the moss that blanketed the bower where Jaskier lay in the shade of a huge tree. He reached up to his neck and found the swelling and pain were completely gone. 

“Who are you, that you would face a Katakan alone to save a Witcher and speak to the trees in a language no man alive possesses?” Her words were hard and firm, their thick inflection telling him that she was speaking some form of Elder Speech. Jaskier suspected that his answer could possibly save or condemn him in her cold, silver eyes.

“I am Jaskier the Bard, my Lady.” He swallowed and wished he was able to stand. But he was afraid to move, for fear it would be interpreted as some sort of threat. “Geralt is my. . .” He struggled with the words. “He's mine.”

The woman's expression remained unchanged as she studied him. “Come,” she said finally and turned to walk away. 

Jaskier rose to follow her. His doublet and trousers were gone, replaced by a soft woven tunic and leggings the colors of fallen autumn leaves. His feet were bare, but the air was warm and fragrant with blooming flowers and greenery. He felt the hum of magic under the soles of his feet as he stepped carefully along the moss covered path, trailing after the tall, slender woman who had woken him. There was something ancient and powerful about this place and if he tried to focus on it too hard, he got dizzy. He rounded the thick trunk of a huge tree to see a steaming pool of clear water. Flowering vines trailed down toward the surface and it was thick with waving water plants. 

“Geralt?” Jaskier breathed as he knelt at the edge of the pool, his hands hovering, too afraid to touch. Geralt lay partially submerged in the water with is eyes closed. His head rested in a mossy indentation that kept his face above water and there were vines and plants wrapped around his torso. The entirety of his left shoulder was almost completely swathed in greenery. His skin was deathly pale. “Is he. . .”

“He will live. Gwynbleidd has survived much worse than this,” the woman said from behind him. “But there is a price to pay for our efforts.”

“Anything,” Jaskier said immediately as he stared at Geralt's still form. “I'll give you anything.”

“So quickly you agree, Baegblath, without knowing the cost.”

Jaskier turned to look up at her, kneeling in the moss beneath a canopy of ancient trees. “I will pay you anything that's within my power to give.” He gasped as the magic around them pulsed, as if sealing his promise. Jaskier had every intention of keeping it, if it meant Geralt would live.


	8. Singing with the Trees

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER TAGS: There is dubious consent in this chapter. Jaskier is a willing participant with multiple Dryads and he is given a choice before they start. But he agrees due to manipulation. I feel that this is something he'd volunteer for under normal circumstances. But I've written him exclusively with Geralt in this story, so it would be a bit out of character here.
> 
> Just wanted to throw that out there. I didn't tag this story as dub-con or with the multiple paring tags because it's only this one chapter and the scene isn't explicit. It's also fairly short. I know tagging can be an issue, and I don't want to upset or surprise anyone.
> 
> Please consider your personal preferences and proceed at your own discretion.

It was only later that Jaskier realized what his promise had truly meant. The woman with quicksilver hair was Queen Eithne, the Dryad leader who ruled over Brokilon Forrest. He'd heard of the place and the many warnings that came with it. He was well aware that if he had been a full blood human, they might have left him to die in the woods with the corpse of the Katakan. That was the proper name for the beast that had attacked him and nearly killed Geralt. The Witcher seemed to have some past history here which is what led the Dryads to intervene the other night. Well, that and Jaskier's singing. Apparently, the forest had heard him and sent reinforcements. Now it expected payment for its help.

He was sitting in the middle of wide bower cushioned with moss and pillows stuffed with hemp fibers. The soft indentation sat below a large tree and was surrounded by flowers and shrubs like the rest of the Dryad village that lay in the center of the forest. His palms were sweaty and he was nervous, but he wasn't really sure why. It wasn't like he was a virgin. But he supposed that trysting due to mutual attraction was much different than. . . making an arrangement. All of the Dryads were female and the only way for them to procreate and maintain their numbers was to find male donors. He swallowed as Eithne came to the edge of the bower and looked down at him.

“Do you consent?” she asked him. This was the third time she'd posed the question. 

“Yes, I do.” The magic around them pulsed again. Thrice and done, he thought. His choice was made. He swallowed as the bower was suddenly surrounded by Dryads standing at the edge, all nude, all looking at him expectantly. There had to be at least a dozen. Talk about performance anxiety. Their skin tones ranged from pale green, to multiple flesh tones, dark to light, along with reddish clay and green forest hues like their queen. Hair braided like trailing vines and coiled like winding roots trailed over their slender shoulders in waves and tight locks. As one, they moved down into the bower gracefully and surrounded him. “Oh, wow. All at once? I-”

“Do not speak,” Eithne said where she stood watching at the edge of the bower. “Sing if you must, but do not talk. This is a sacred occurrence.”

“Sorry, I-” Jaskier pulled his lips between his teeth and bit down for a moment before blowing out a breath and staying silent. He was still dressed in the tunic and leggings they'd given him, but as the Dryads approached, they quickly undressed him with efficient movements. It wasn't harsh, but it wasn't particularly sensual either. Their slender fingers and small hands were strong but gentle as they touched his skin. He broke out in goosebumps. Sixteen year old Julian would have lost his horny, juvenile mind if he'd been offered this opportunity. But all Jaskier could think about was the surly Witcher laying in a pool of healing water who had yet to wake. It had been three days and he was still sleeping.

Jaskier gasped as the Dryads sought to encourage his body to respond. Again, it wasn't particularly sensual, but the stimulus was enough to give them what they wanted. Every time he tried to touch, his hands were pushed gently away and all he could do was lay back an allow them to continue. And there was no kissing or use of mouths at all. They took turns, like they'd set some sort of schedule. When he started flagging, they gave him something sweet to drink to keep him going. He'd feel energized for a while until his body would start to wilt again. And he sang. Sometimes it was humming without words, and others it was a string of incomprehensible sounds. There were no lyrics for this. Occasionally the Dryads would accompany him and the song would be sweet. 

By the time they were finished with him, Jaskier was barely conscious. His skin was sweat slicked and the Dryads bathed him gently with soft cloths soaked in floral scented water. If their touch was more reverent now than when they started, he wasn't awake enough to notice. Jaskier was given one last drink that tasted of herbs and honey, and then he slept. 

*******

Jaskier was warm and comfortable. He was surrounded by the scent of pine and horses. Geralt. Turning into him, Jaskier pressed close. The other man held him tight and tilted his head up to claim his lips, kissing him deeply. Jaskier moaned into his mouth. His body was willing, but it felt soft and spent. He was content to lay there safe and warm in the other man's arms. Sighing, he lingered in a half asleep state for as long as possible. It wasn't until some time later that either one of them spoke.

“Why did you do it?” Geralt asked him.

“Matilda offered to mend your shirt. It was midday, so I didn't think a Vampire would-”

“No, not that.”

“Yes, well.” Jaskier licked his lips. “The Dryads, you see-”

“Jaskier. Why did you try to strike the Katakan with my sword instead of running?”

“It was killing you.” Of all of the dangers Jaskier had a faced, that had been the most frightening. “And honestly, if you had died, what chance would I have had of getting away?” Jaskier closed his eyes as Geralt's lips brushed his forehead.

“My life is not worth so much as yours,” Geralt said quietly.

“In that, my dear Witcher, we shall have to agree to disagree.” The idea of traveling without Geralt made Jaskier sick to his stomach. It wasn't being on his own that bothered him. It was that the loss of the Witcher would rip a hole inside of him that would most likely never close. And with a long, Elven life ahead of him, that could potentially be a very long time. 

Geralt sighed. “You could have cut off your own foot,” he grumbled as he held Jaskier tightly to him. 

“Which is why I choose not to carry a blade myself. I am a lover, not a fighter.”

“Hn.” Geralt sounded like he was already falling asleep again. When his breathing had evened out, Jaskier whispered quietly enough that only the trees could hear him.

“I love you.” 

*******

Jaskier lay in the bower three more times and he was visited by different Dryads from various parts of the forest. The song they sang together was different every time. It was exhausting and invigorating in turns, and he barely remembered any of it. Each time he passed out from exhaustion, he woke in Geralt's arms in a small forest cottage that seemed to have been formed out of a living tree. He lost track of time and had no idea how many days they'd spent beneath the boughs of the trees. Just when he was wondering if he'd ever be allowed to leave, Eithne came to visit them. Since their first meeting, Jaskier had only seen her presiding over the bower, but she didn't appear to be there to usher him toward the clearing under the tree this time. 

“Today you leave the forest and re-enter the world, Baegblath,” she said. She never called him Jaskier. 

“It's been an honor to, erm, serve your people,” Jaskier said, only stumbling once over the wording. 

Two Dryads came in with their arms full of Jaskier and Geralt's gear. They'd been stripped of their clothes and weapons when the arrived with the promise that they'd be returned before they left. The only thing Jaskier had been allowed to keep on him was the Leshen's heartwood pendant. He stood and waited, unsure of proper decorum in this situation. He could see Geralt's lips quirking up out of the corner of his eye like he was amused by his nervous discomfort. Dick. 

The Witcher was strangely at ease here and he sat at the small table along the wall, his body fully relaxed and loose. Perhaps it was because they were truly safe for the first time in a while. Jaskier was almost sad to leave. It wasn't that there were no dangers in the forest. Jaskier had been warned not to wander, not only so he wouldn't shirk his promise, but because there were dangerous beasts and traps in the woods. The Dryads were fierce warriors who kept their village safe. 

Eithne came forward to stand in front of Jaskier. She held a small, shining stone in her hand the size of a small, flattened grape. It seemed to glow from the inside with streaks of green, turquoise, and amber. When she held it out to the heartwood pendant, the knotted wood coiled around the stone so it was held securely in the center of the knot. 

“Labradorite,” she said as Jaskier fingered the pendant and turned it in the light to make the stone shine. “It is a stone of transformation that will provide you with guidance and help you persevere in the difficult times to come.” 

“What did you see?” Geralt's voice was tense, and the muscles along his shoulders started to tighten. The shifting movement pulled at the new scars across his left shoulder where the Katakan had tried to claw his arm off. Eithne regarded Geralt coolly. 

“You already know,” she said calmly. “You have known for a long time, but still you refuse to acknowledge it.”

Geralt's lips thinned. “We'll be leaving now.”

“Morenn will guide you to the edge of the forest,” she said as she turned to go. Pausing in the doorway, she looked back at Geralt one last time. Her quicksilver hair caught the light from the glowing seed pods hanging from the ceiling. “Have a care, Witcher. By ignoring Destiny's call, it is not just your own life you imperil.” And then she was gone in a swish of gossamer silks. 

“What did she mean by that?” Jaskier asked as he watched the Dryad queen leave. Her steps were so smooth and measured, she seemed to float above the mossy floor of the forest. 

“It's nothing,” Geralt said as he started stripping so he could put on his own clothes. His tone made it clear he wasn't going to talk about it, so Jaskier let it be for now.

Geralt's clothes were clean and his armor looked well cared for and repaired. Jaskier ran his fingers over the fabric of his own clothes, examining the turquoise silks. The brocade was clean and shining, like it was brand new. 

“We have to go back for my lute,” he said. He wasn't going to leave it behind. It was all he had left of the Elven grandfather he never had the chance to meet.

“It's with Roach at the edge of the woods.”

Of course. How could Jaskier have forgotten about her? “How did she get here?”

“When I got back to the farm that night, you were gone, so I rode out to follow the locator charm. It took me three days to get to you. The Katakan covered a lot of ground. When the Dryads showed up, they caught her and brought her with us.” 

“What about Dietrich and his family?” 

“They were safe when I left and now that the Katakan is dead, all they have to worry about is badgers. They'll be fine.”

Jaskier shook his head and started getting dressed. He didn't ask if Geralt had been paid. It didn't matter. But he hated leaving Dietrich behind without knowing what had happened. If they were ever in that area again, he'd have to stop in and say hello. Jaskier's clothes almost felt strange on his body. He'd been wearing the soft woven tunic and leggings for so long, it felt odd to have clothing with ties and buttons again. And the boots felt heavy on his feet after days, or perhaps weeks, of being barefoot. But when he settled his feet in the soft leather, he started to feel like himself again. If he stayed here much longer, he felt like he'd start drifting away and forgetting things. 

A young Dryad with green locks and Eithne's silver eyes was waiting for them outside. She nodded her head. “Gwynbleidd, Baegblath. I am Morenn, and I will be your guide.” 

They followed her as she moved through the village. Jaskier looked around to try and commit this place to memory. He wasn't sure if he'd ever see it again, but for some reason, he didn't think he'd sing about it. There was something private and protected about this place. It felt wrong to describe it in song somehow, like he'd be betraying the Dryad's trust. Several Dryads had come to see them go. They stood in groups of two or three, each nodding regally as they passed. It was on the tip of Jaskier's tongue to ask Geralt if it meant something, but he kept quiet as they walked. When they came to the edge of the village, two Dryads were waiting with silken lengths of fabric in their hands. Jaskier's breath shuddered a bit and Geralt laid a hand softly on his back. 

“They need to blindfold us for a bit,” he said. “No one is allowed to know the location of Duen Cannel. Once we pass into the outer parts of the forest, we'll be allowed to see the rest of the way.”

Jaskier took a deep breath and nodded. “Okay.” He stood still as the soft fabric was tied snugly over his eyes. Slender fingers tugged at the edges to make sure no light made it through. One of the Dryads curled an arm along Jaskier's back while holding his hand with the other. She proceeded to guide him forward carefully. He lost track of how long they traveled blindfolded and they remained quiet the entire way. 

When they were far enough out for the blindfolds to be removed, Jaskier saw unbroken woodlands stretching out on all sides. There was no sign of the village and the two Dryads quickly disappeared, leaving them with Morenn. She gestured for them to follow her and to mimic her carefully specific steps. It was only when they'd moved farther along when Jaskier finally felt comfortable enough to speak. 

“Was that normal? Having all of them see us off?”

“Hn. I've never been offered such a procession when leaving before,” Geralt said with a shrug.

“It has been centuries since a true Phrydydd, has graced Brokilon,” Morenn said, her tone solemn. “They were offering their thanks and blessings to you. The forest may ring with the sound of song once again some day. There are too few of us left that can speak to the trees as you do.” She sounded wistful. “We might have kept you if not for. . .forgive me,” she said, bowing her head. “I speak too much sometimes.”

“What do you mean?” Jaskier asked her. When she didn't answer, he tried to move up beside her, but a loose rock moved under his foot. Geralt's fingers curling in the collar of his doublet was the only thing that kept him from toppling off the path and into a pit of spikes. “Whoa, shit!” Geralt yanked him back and set him on the path, keeping his hand on the back of his neck to steady him.

“Less talking, more walking carefully and not dying of stupidity,” he growled. 

Jaskier concentrated on where he put his feet, but he really wanted to know what she was talking about. And he wanted to know what Geralt had been talking about earlier before they left. “You asked Eithne what she saw,” Jaskier said as he carefully put one foot in front of the other, copying Morenn's steps the way she'd shown them.

“It doesn't matter.” Geralt's tone was dark.

“I'm pretty sure it does,” Jaskier insisted. “And what did she mean by 'difficult times to come'? That sounds pretty ominous.” 

Could she see the future? Jaskier was suddenly reminded of the man who had been shouting on a street corner in Ard Carraigh, back before he and Geralt finally started traveling together. He'd called Jaskier the 'Herald' and the 'Shepard of Magic's Rise'. Jaskier stopped suddenly as the reality of what the man had said then sank in. What if what he'd said had really come true? Jaskier had used his magic in Lettenhove when he had a panic attack inside an MRI machine, and again later to heal a gunshot wound. It shouldn't have been possible because magic didn't work in Modern Cities, just as all modern materials broke down in the Wood. But six months after that day, the city was in ruins. The magic had eaten away at the modern tech until the towers came down. 

“What's wrong?” Geralt asked him as he settled his hands lightly on Jaskier's shoulders.

“Did I destroy Lettenhove?”

“What?”

“Did my magic destroy Lettenhove?” Jaskier turned to look up at Geralt's face where he was frowning down at him. “When I broke the MRI machine and healed the bullet wound. Did that. . .make the trees grow or did the Wood do it. . .or. . .I don't know. I don't know how any of this works.” So many people must have died. What had he done?

“Look at me.” 

Jaskier looked back up into Geralt's face from where his gaze had wandered as his panic grew. Warm, golden eyes regarded him calmly. 

“What happened in Lettenhove was always going to happen. Every Modern City is going to turn to dust eventually, some sooner than others. The magic of the Wood will chew them up and spit them out. You saw the sign outside of Ard Carraigh that was starting to break down. You hadn't even been there yet and it was already crumbling. It's not your fault.”

“Isn't it?”

“Did you do it on purpose?”

Jaskier recoiled. “No. Of course not.”

“Then blaming yourself is pointless. It will accomplish nothing besides making you miserable.” Geralt swallowed and his expression grew pained. “Internalized guilt is. . .destructive.”

Jaskier had no idea what the other man had to feel guilty for. Was it Blaviken? Jaskier didn't think so, but he didn't know enough about Geralt's past to know what he might be referring to. The Witcher leaned down and rested his forehead against Jaskier's and sighed. 

“All you can do is take responsibility for the things you can control. The rest just happens.”

Jaskier hoped he was right, but it sounded like Geralt was trying to convince himself that was true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> According to the internet, phrydydd is the Welsh term for bard. I've been using the lingojam translator for some of the Elder Speech terms, but I liked the Welsh word better. Also, while I love the Dryad character design in the Neflix show, here they look more like the description on the Wiki.


	9. To the Coast

Jaskier took a deep breath as they came out of the trees next to the bank of a narrow river. His nose twitched and he looked down to see the hollow eyes of a skull starting back up at him from under the shallow water. The air left him in a rush as he glanced around and saw death scattered before him. The remains of several people were visible, each in various states of decay. It reminded him of the dry moat full of bones at Kaer Morhen. He looked back to ask Morenn about them, but she had melted back into the trees without a word.

“Doesn't this attract scavengers and necrophages?”

“No.” Geralt didn't look at the bodies as he scanned the far bank. “Brokilon's magic keeps them away. The Dryads take their privacy very seriously.” He turned to Jaskier. “Never attempt to enter the forest without permission.”

“They seemed to like me well enough,” Jaskier said.

“Dryads tend to shoot first and dump the bodies later. If you ever have to come here for any reason, try singing and using your magic to call them from the other side of the river first. Once you get them talking, they'll either allow you in or turn you away. But be careful, and remember that they aren't human.”

“Neither am I.”

“Hn.” Geralt looked back across the river and pursed his lips to whistle. Within moments, Jaskier heard the jingle of tack as Roach appeared at the crest of a small hill on the other side of the water. Jaskier's heart settled as he saw his lute hanging from the saddle. He didn't like being parted from it. The horse picked her way through the shallows, deftly stepping over the bones as she came over and butted her head against Jaskier's chest.

“I missed you too, Sweetheart,” he told her as he pressed his forehead to the bridge of her nose and scratched under her chin. She whickered softly in reply. 

“C'mon.” Geralt gestured to the saddle. “We need to be gone from here before dark.”

Jaskier mounted, but instead of mounting behind him, Geralt took the reigns and led Roach back across the water and up the small bank. It looked like it was mid-morning and the sky was clear and cloudless. 

“Where are we?”

Geralt glanced back at the line of the trees and then up towards the sun. “Somewhere on the western edge of Brokilon.” 

“Where to now?” Jaskier had no idea how long they'd spent in the forest. It was spring, heading towards summer now, and the days were getting warmer. They didn't have a particular plan in place before all this, and now that they weren't going to Skellige any time soon, he wasn't sure which direction to head.

“Were you actually interested in heading towards the coast, or was that just an excuse to get me to go to Cintra?” Geralt asked him.

“I wouldn't say no to heading further west. It's been a long time since I've seen the sea.” Novigrad certainly didn't count. While you could see the ocean from there, the city harbor was filthy and the brackish seawater could hardly be called ocean anymore. Jaskier had vague memories of walking on the beach with his mother. He must have been young. He remembered reaching up to hold her hand.

“We could head to Hamm.”

“I'm fairly certain you're not referring to delicious pig meat,” Jaskier said.

Geralt huffed a quiet laugh. “It's a barony in Verden overlooking the ocean. It's been a while since I've been there, but they're fairly open minded.” Meaning they wouldn't be run out of town immediately on arrival. Good to know. 

“Isn't Verden a vassal of Cintra? Will that cause any problems?”

“The baron owes me a favor. He'd at least give us a head start if his king ordered him to bring him our heads to appease Calanthe.”

“That's fair enough, I guess.” Jaskier frowned, as he thought about the possibilities. The idea of riding out ahead of a head hunting party wasn't particularly appealing. But they couldn't live in fear of the queen forever. “Speaking of meat, I would love a steak or some other juicy protein that doesn't grow on trees.” The Dryads had kept them well fed and watered during their stay, but it had been all plants and juices. Jaskier was desperate for something more substantial. 

“I can do something about that,” Geralt said as he got in the packs to pull out his crossbow.

*******

Two hours later, they were sitting in a small copse of trees beside a campfire with their bellies full of venison. Geralt was cleaning his hunting knife, and Jaskier was strumming the lute idly, letting his fingers wander over the strings. 

“How's your shoulder?” Jaskier asked.

“A little stiff,” Geralt said as he wiped the blade one final time with a clean cloth and put it in the sheath. “I'll need to work on strengthening it before I take on anything big.”

Jaskier put down the lute and went over to his pack. He pulled out a bottle of oil that was a blend of almond and calendula and went over to kneel at Geralt's side. Picking at the ties and buckles, he started pulling off his armor one piece at a time. Geralt watched him quietly, neither helping or hindering. When Jaskier finally pulled his shirt off, he ran his fingers lightly over the new, pink scars. He leaned in and brushed his lips lightly over the skin and Geralt closed his eyes, sighing deeply as he let Jaskier take the lead. 

Warming the oil by rubbing his hand together, Jaskier started gently massaging the muscles with his fingertips. The sweet scent of the almonds masked the musky smell of the calendula oil. It would help with any swelling and also keep the skin soft and supple. He started off on his knees at his side but Geralt curled an arm around his hips to guide him over until he was straddling his lap. Jaskier looked down at him and traced the scar that ran down Geralt's cheek. He must have come dangerously close to losing an eye when it had happened. 

Jaskier leaned down and kissed him deeply, slowly teasing open his mouth with his tongue. In Brokilon, his body had been too spent to respond to touch outside the bower, despite his best efforts. But from the tightening in his middle, he seemed to be sufficiently recovered now. He gasped as Geralt pulled him in and lay back so Jaskier lay along his bare chest with his bent knees bracketing Geralt's hips. Jaskier groaned into his mouth and melted into him.

*******

After sleeping through the afternoon and rising for another round later in the evening, they slept the night through and moved on the next morning. Geralt had spent a little while before they left stretching and going through the motions of one of his training exercises while Jaskier sat admiring the view. And then they'd set out for Hamm. Jaskier was riding again as Geralt walked alongside him in a a rare role reversal. Geralt had said he wanted to stretch his legs, but it could be equally likely that he thought letting Jaskier ride the horse would keep him out of trouble. It was probably wishful thinking. 

Jaskier played while he rode, letting Geralt lead Roach. He was starting to think about the possibility that in a year or two, there would be a horde of little blue eyed Dryads running around Brokilon. 

“Do they really raise that many children at once?” he asked. “There were. . .a lot of them.” Jaskier had lost count while he was in the bower. 

“Hn. The chances of a Dryad becoming pregnant are fairly low. They tend to err on the side of caution and aim high.”

“Do I need to go back and. . .I don't know. Meet them?” It was just now starting to sink in that he was going to be a father. Sort of.  
“I wouldn't try if I were you. Men are generally not welcome except in specific circumstances.”

“I can't just leave them for someone else to raise.” Jaskier could see Geralt's shoulders tightening. “Sorry. I didn't mean-”

“It's fine,” Geralt rumbled without looking at him.

Jaskier went silent after that, only playing the lute to pass the time.

*******

Three days later, Jaskier could smell the ocean and seabirds wheeled overhead filling the air with their sharp cries. Hamm was a small barony with a main road that wound its way back and forth down the hill to the harbor. Wide beaches and rocky formations stretched out on either side and the sea spread out as far as the eye could see. Ships floated on the water, their sails unfurled to catch the afternoon breeze. From the maps he'd seen, Jaskier knew that this was the closest point on the mainland to Skellige, but it couldn't be seen from here. Someday they'd go, he thought. 

“So how do you know the baron?” Jaskier asked as he walked down down the hill towards town. The tension that had risen a couple days ago had faded and they were both fairly relaxed at the moment. They were back in their customary places with Jaskier walking and Geralt in the saddle.

“I lifted a curse from him. He spent a bit of time as a cormorant before his sister hired me.”

Jaskier wondered if he'd been like Duny and imagined a man with feathered bird head. Or maybe he'd been an actual bird. He didn't feel comfortable asking since Cintra and anything related to Geralt's Surprise Child was a sore spot still.

“How do you lift curses?”

“Magic is derived from Chaos, but there are rules. Curses are like spells. There's a formula and possibly a ritual to make something happen. Performing the ritual in reverse or doing something to balance out the curse, can usually break it. In this case, the curse was laid by putting a spell on a piece of his clothing. So we made a shirt of nettles and made him wear it all night. By morning, he was a man again.”

An extremely itchy man, probably. Jaskier bit back a laugh at the image of Geralt chasing down a bird and putting a shirt on it. But something didn't quite make sense. “If Magic is from Chaos, how can it have rules? Isn't Chaos, by nature, unpredictable and formless?”

“You're thinking of chaos the concept. Chaos in this context is energy. Magic uses energy to make things happen according to the will and skill set of the caster. There are certain requirements to meet in order to make things happen.”

“I still don't understand how I can heal if there are rules that I'm supposedly following. It seems random and I still have trouble doing it when I intend to.”

“There are rules to your magic as well, but you're not paying attention and remembering what they are.” There was a long suffering tone to Geralt's voice, like a teacher going over the same topics repeatedly, knowing that the student wouldn't get it. “You can't create something from nothing which is why you can't regain your pointed Elven ears and why Erlowyth is still missing his fingers. There is a cost to healing another person and you draw from your own body to repair someone else's.” He was distinctly displeased about that still.

“You said you didn't know how I heal myself when I don't seem to be 'paying' for it. There's supposed to be equivalent exchange, right? What am I exchanging?”

“The answer to that question requires more knowledge than I possess. But there's a reason you heal with scars instead of erasing the wound like it was never there.”

Jaskier reached up to his neck where the Katakan had bitten him. The skin was smooth and unblemished.

“Katakan venom has odd properties. They can poison or heal at will depending on which glands they use. It probably healed the bite when it licked your skin. And then the waters of Brokilon healed the rest.”

Jaskier was grateful. He'd collected quite a collection of scars during his first few months in the Wood. He'd healed the Warg bite on his left foot and the Werecat claw marks over his heart without knowing what he was doing. The gunshot wound on his right shoulder had been healed with intent. He figured they added character even though the events that led to them were traumatic. But he was glad he didn't have to worry about hiding a monster hickey.

They came into town without fanfare or anyone giving them a second glance, and when they rented a room at the inn, it was without any hassles at all. Jaskier was immediately suspicious. And sure enough, shortly after they'd sat down at a table in the tavern, a pompous looking man with a thin mustache came in flanked by two guards dressed in ducal livery. He scanned the room and Jaskier prayed that he was looking for someone else, but once he spotted Geralt, he marched over imperiously. The man drew himself up when he stood before them as if trying to make himself appear larger.

“Geralt of Rivia.”

Geralt lazily rolled his eyes up to regard the man with thinly veiled boredom. “Gustav.”

Gustav's face scrunched up in what may have been an attempt to smile, but it looked pinched and uncomfortable like he was trying to be friendly and courteous but wasn't sure how. “What a delight it is to have you visit our humble town,” Gustav said.

“Get to the point. Are you here to try and arrest me again?”

The pinched smile tightened so much it looked it was straining the muscles in his face. “An unfortunate misunderstanding,” he said tightly. “I am here to extend an invitation from the baron to come visit his manor.”

“Are the guards for you or for me?” Geralt kept his body relaxed. He obviously didn't view any of them as a threat. 

“Neither,” Gustav sniffed as a muscle in his jaw ticked. The guards looked embarrassed to be there. “I was attending to other matters when I received the message to come here.” His tone made it clear that he felt there were far better uses of his time.

“Tell the baron I would be delighted to pay him a visit. Will now do?” Geralt's unexpected decorum made the other man falter. 

“Of course. Allow me to-”

“I know the way,” Geralt said as he got to his feet and nodded politely. “Have a nice day.”

Jaskier got up and fell into step beside him as he went outside. They left Gustav seething in the tavern with the guards smothering grins and coughing into their hands to mask their laughter. It was obvious they didn't like the man.

“That was great,” Jaskier said when they were out on the street. “I don't think I've ever seen you bitch slap someone with words before. That's usually my job.”

“It comes in handy on occasion. He views Witchers as a necessary evil, but dismisses us as uncivilized barbarians. Prick,” Geralt muttered.

“And he tried to arrest you? For what?”

“He claimed I was the one who laid the curse on the baron so I could offer my services to solve a problem I had created.” 

“Did you ever figure out who actually did it?”

“I never got a name, but I'm fairly certain the baron knew who it was.”

“What did he do?”

“I have no idea. I got paid and moved on.” Geralt's lips thinned. “Eventually.”

Jaskier raised a brow, but by then, they'd arrived at the gate to a large manor house at the top of the hill. It was more ornate than the neighboring buildings, but not in an overly ostentatious way. From the upper balconies, you could probably see all the way down the hill to the harbor. Geralt opened the gate and stepped inside. A well dressed man was coming down the manicured path surrounded by flowerbeds with his arms spread wide in welcome.

“Geralt,” he said, with warmth and genuine joy in his voice.

“Freixenet,” Geralt greeted him with a nod, but was soon drawn into a back slapping hug. He returned it awkwardly. 

“How have you been?” the baron asked him as he stepped back.

“I'm well. And you?”

“I have the occasional craving for fresh fish, but other than that, I'm good.” The baron regarded Jaskier for a moment before offering his hand. “Baron Freixenet of Hamm.” 

“Jaskier the Bard, at your service.”

The baron's smile widened. “I didn't know you kept such rarified company these days, Geralt. Come, join me in the garden for tea and tell me what you've been up to since I last saw you.” He nodded to Jaskier. “As wondrous as your songs are Master Bard, I'd love to hear some of the stories directly from the source.”

“We'd have to skip the tea and jump straight to Dwarven spirits for that,” Jaskier said with an easy smile. “It's tough to get details out of him most days.” He could practically hear Geralt's glower darkening, but he just grinned without looking at him. The baron laughed and led them inside.

They ended up seated at a small, wrought iron table in a brightly colored garden full of blooms and exotic plants. Jaskier looked around and saw at least a dozen things he couldn't identify. The baron caught his gaze as he poured the tea himself into thick cups with no handles. 

“Botany is my hobby, though I don't have as much time to indulge as I wish. Ephrema gets most of the credit for what you see here.” As if on cue, a tall, willowy woman with dark chocolate skin came outside. Her simple, but elegant gown rustled quietly as she came forward to lay her hand on the baron's shoulder. He picked up her hand to press his lips to her knuckles. “My wife, Ephrema. Dearest, this is Geralt of Rivia and his companion, Jaskier the Bard.”

Her eyes lit up at the mention of Jaskier. “Your music is amazing,” she said as she sat at the table with them. “Will you be performing during your stay?” Her voice was rich and her words curled musically with an accent Jaskier couldn't place. 

“I don't have any bookings locally yet,” Jaskier said. “We'd only just arrived when we received your husband's invitation.”

“I'm hosting a gathering of my closest friends here the day after tomorrow. I would love to have music to accompany our modest diversions.”

“It would be my pleasure,” Jaskier said with a nod. Geralt needed to relax and heal, so they'd planned to spend some time in town before going back out on the road again.

“Now that's settled,” the baron said as he took a sip of his tea. “Tell me more about the Selkiemore. Mathers just came back up from the south and it's all anyone is talking about.”


	10. Experiment on the Water

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Friday. I'm posting a little early today. I've been at home for a while taking a much needed break from work, but I'll be going back in a couple weeks. I've had a hell of a time getting anything new written despite having an outline of where I want the next story to go. I'm in the middle of a short story that will be posted after this one and then I'll be moving on to part three.

Jaskier sat on the small, private balcony attached to the rooms they'd been given in the manor house. The baron had insisted they stay with him and sent a porter to have their things brought over. Jaskier sipped some excellent coffee out of a thick, earthen mug while he watched people moving around down in the harbor and the ships out on the water. He had an idea he wanted to test out, but he wasn't quite sure how to pose the question to Geralt. It was rare that Jaskier rose first, but Geralt was still sleeping soundly in the bed. His body must still be recovering. As if hearing his thoughts, the other man stirred and shifted, stretching an arm out under the covers. When he found empty sheets, his eyes opened to automatically scan the room to find Jaskier where he sat just outside the open balcony doors.

“Morning,” Jaskier said as he curled his fingers around the warm mug. “How are you feeling?”

“Hn. Relaxed.” 

“You seem surprised and confused by this,” Jaskier said with a raised brow as he came back inside to sit on the edge of the bed. “Or are you worried that you're getting soft?”

“No. This is typical after a major injury if I can find a safe place to recover.”

Jaskier tried not to think about the times Geralt hadn't been able find a haven where he could heal his wounds. The idea of him wounded and alone made Jaskier's heart ache. “You're not worried about Gustav?”

“Not particularly.”

“Weren't you the one who told me not to underestimate the danger of mundane animals?” Jaskier reached out to brush a strand of hair away from Geralt's forehead. “Or accountants.”

“What makes you think he's an accountant?” Geralt took the mug from him and set it aside so he could pull Jaskier back into bed. 

“Oh, he's definitely somebody who handles other people's money,” Jaskier said as he shrugged out of the soft robe he'd been wearing. “He thinks he's more important than he is and does his best to let everyone know.” He let himself be rolled onto his back so Geralt could hover over him before leaning down to kiss his way up Jaskier's torso. They were going to be late for breakfast. 

A while later when they were dressed and ready for the day, they sat in the garden eating eggs, bacon, and fruit with the baron and his wife. Jaskier was mildly disappointed that they weren't serving ham. 

“So what brings you to Hamm?” Ephrema asked them as she nibbled on a perfectly spherical melon ball. 

“We came to see the coast,” Jaskier said. “I'm actually hoping to get out on the water. Do you know if anyone rents boats down in the harbor?” He ignored Geralt's pointed look.

“There are some reputable people who could lend you a craft,” Freixenet said. “What did you have in mind?”

“Ocean travel doesn't agree with me, and I'd like to see if I can find my sea legs. But I thought I'd start off small.”

Ephrema winced in sympathy. “I too, have trouble on the water. There are roots and herbs that can be brewed into a tea to help. I have some in the greenhouse.”

“I will gladly take you up on your offer. But I'd also like to see if I can become accustomed to travel by boat without it. I may not always have access to ingredients on the road.”

She nodded at him and sipped her tea. Freixenet chewed thoughtfully on a piece of bacon. 

“Talk to Zeke down in the harbor. He should be on the southern tip of the docks. Just look for the ginger hair. He tends to stand out in a crowd. He'll have something you can use, and if you tell him I sent you, it will be taken care of.”

“I appreciate it,” Jaskier told him.

*******

As they headed down the hill to the harbor, Geralt sighed heavily. 

“Are you sure about this?” 

“How else am I going to test my theory? And it's just a little nausea. It's not like I'm going to cut myself to see how well I can heal the wound.”

“Do you know how to swim?”

“Yes, of course.” It had been indoors in a swimming pool where you could see all the way to the bottom, unlike the dark blue waters of the northern sea. But he wasn't going to suggest going out on the water without knowing how to swim. 

“Good. Because if you barf on my boots, I'm throwing you overboard.” 

“Can _you_ swim?” Jaskier shot back. He had no doubt that the other man meant what he said.

“Swimming is a vital skill, as many monsters make their lairs in and around water. A Witcher who can't swim is ineffectual.”

“Sure.” Every once in a while, Geralt would spout out something that sounded like it came straight out of a lecture. It was most likely something Vesemir had said at one point during his training. 

True to the baron's word, Zeke definitely stood out from a crowd. And nearly a head above everyone around him. He had to be nearly seven feet tall and his body was corded with muscle. He was currently coiling ropes and stacking them neatly along the edge of the dock. He greeted them cordially and offered a small skiff with a single sail. Jaskier often saw boats like it traveling up and down rivers and along the coastline. Zeke eyed Jaskier's lute with a raised brow.

“Are you sure you want to take that with you? The seas are relatively calm today, but you're liable to get wet anyway.”

Shit. Jaskier hadn't really thought about that. But he'd have to risk it. He wasn't sure singing alone would be enough, and if he got nauseous, he might not be able to sing at all. The lute had been treated with oil and he'd be extra careful. It would have to do.

“It will be fine.” 

“Seems like a lot of trouble to sing to fish,” Zeke said with a shrug. 

Geralt got behind the tiller and Jaskier carefully boarded and settled on the bench in front of him. He could feel the small boat rocking gently beneath him and he took a deep breath to settle himself. His body didn't seem to like they way the water moved the craft, like it was angry that he was no longer on solid ground. 

“You're looking a little green already,” Geralt rumbled as he guided the skiff away from the dock and out into the water. 

“Just trying to get accustomed to the way the boat moves. I'm not sure I was made for the ocean.”

“We can head back anytime.”

Jaskier wasn't sure if it was Geralt's dismissive tone or if it was his own inherent stubbornness, but he had no intention of giving up until he got some results. He carefully got out his lute and was glad that they were moving slowly enough that there was very little spray from the water. They moved out from the shore a short ways, but not so far that they couldn't swim to the beach. It would probably be cold as fuck, but they'd make it. Jaskier hoped he'd never have to find out for sure. 

He also hadn't taken into account how much cooler it would be on the water, and Jaskier had to flex his fingers as they started to cramp a bit. This was not going how he expected. His fingers tripped over the strings a bit before he found a rhythm with the waves. Geralt steadied the craft so they could drift instead of cutting across the surface. Jaskier blew out a breath and focused on his breathing as he played. But feeling nauseous didn't seem to be quite the same as being injured. There was no wound and nothing to fix. Just as he was about to ask Geralt to take them back to shore, the boat jerked in the water, tipping dangerously. 

“What the fuck!”

“Shit,” Geralt muttered. “He didn't say anything about this.”

“Anything about what?!” Jaskier gasped as the boat tipped again and Geralt struggled to steer it back towards shore. 

Jaskier didn't get an answer before the boat rocked violently and he lost his balance and was suddenly thrown over the side. He took a quick breath as the frigid water closed over his head and he struggled to swim, not knowing which way was up. Something shoved him and he screamed underwater as the lute strap got tangled up in his arms, making it hard to get to the surface. He twisted his way out of it, but he was shoved again and the instrument slipped from his fingers. The salt stung his eyes as he frantically searched the water around him trying to find the lute, and soon his lungs burned for air. Then something grabbed him and dragged him upward. He broke the surface with a choking cough as he was literally thrown up into the boat. He landed in a dripping heap, shivering with the cold. When he dragged himself up and lunged toward the side again, Geralt caught him around the waist.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” Geralt yelled. 

“My lute!” Jaskier sputtered. He was about to dive in after it when it was thrust up out of the water in front of him by a muscular, male hand. He blinked for a moment before taking it cautiously. He caught a brief glint of golden eyes and a silver sword. And then they were gone with a flick of purple and copper scales. What the hell? Whatever had hit the boat was either gone or distracted and Geralt took the opportunity to get them back to shore. There was no sign of the person who had rescued Jaskier. It felt like it took a lot longer to get back than it had to sail out. Jaskier started shivering as he hugged the lute to him, heedless of the water pouring from it. 

“What the hell was that?”

“Some kind of serpent. Freixenet didn't say anything about monsters in the water.”

“And what about the person who saved me?”

“Hn. I don't know. It looked like one of the Mer, but they left too quickly for me to be sure.”

“Mer as in M-mermaid?” Or Merman as the case may be. Jaskier's teeth started to chatter.

“Yes.” Geralt's jaw clenched in a way Jaskier knew meant the conversation was over for now. The Witcher was concentrating too hard on getting them back to the dock in one piece while scanning the water for threats to answer his questions. 

When they pulled up to the dock, there was a small crowd of people who started asking questions the moment they left the boat. Geralt ignored them. Zeke offered a thick, woolen blanket and he quickly wrapped Jaskier up in it, lute and all when he refused to let it go. Jaskier was too afraid to look at the damage. His teeth were chattering painfully and his fingers were cramping.

“You got lucky,” Zeke said as he leaned down to inspect the hull of the boat. “Damn thing could have capsized and we'd be fishing up your bones form the bottom.” The skiff showed signs of damage now that Jaskier was really looking at it. Something really big had hit them. 

“Have you had trouble in the harbor lately?” Geralt asked him.

“Not that I'm aware of,” Zeke said. “Last creature that was big enough to do this was slain long before I was born. The shipping lanes between here and Skellige are too well traveled for anything to move in permanently.” Zeke gestured toward a half full cart. “Take your friend back up to town and get him warm. Danner!” he snapped. “Take the cart up to the manor.”

A young, burly man with a box in his arms blinked at Zeke in confusion. “It's only half loaded.” 

“You're taking passengers, you useless tit. Pay attention!”

“Sorry, sorry.” Danner tossed the box he was holding down onto the stack he'd taken it from before heading for the driver's seat.

“Careful. . .you. . never mind. Just get the cart up there and back in one piece.” Zeke turned back to Geralt and Jaskier. “My nephew's worth his weight in gold for lifting and the horses love him, but he can be dense as a brick sometimes,” he muttered. “I've sent a runner ahead, but I trust you'll let the baron know what happened. I'll talk to the ship crews and captains to see if I can find out more about what's out there.”

Geralt nodded before herding Jaskier over to the cart and climbing up in the back with him. It set out at a decent clip along the harbor road before slowing as it started to climb up the winding path that went up the hill. 

“Are you injured?” Geralt asked him as he rubbed his hand up and down Jaskier's arm.

“No. Just wet and cold.” Jaskier's cramped fingers clenched around the neck of the lute before he gingerly pulled it out of the blanket. He was afraid to see how much the water had damaged it, but there was no point in putting it off. 

For the first time, Jaskier noticed that the instrument was vibrating softly in his hands. “What the. . .” 

The lute didn't look damaged at all. Jaskier heard the wet slosh of water as he tilted the instrument to examine it and he turned it over to pour out the last bit. It looked like all the moisture was beading on the surface and hadn't soaked into the wood at all. Jaskier held it up close and saw that the drops of seawater were hovering slightly above the surface. He looked at Geralt who was staring at the instrument with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion. 

“What the hell? I thought it would be ruined,” Jaskier said as a wash of relief flooded through him.

“It's enchanted.” Geralt's fingers touched his medallion they way he did when it reacted to magic.

“Has it ever done that before?” Jaskier nodded at the medallion.

Geralt shook his head. “Only when you're singing. The spell could have been dormant waiting for the right conditions to activate. This is the first time you've gotten it wet. Amazingly,” he said the last bit quietly.

“Hey. Fuck off. I've been really careful with it. And I can't be held responsible for fucking sea monsters.” Jaskier blew out a breath and huddled in the blanket. He smelled like wet wool and stables now and he had a strong suspicion the blanket belonged to the horses drawing the wagon. Despite coming dangerously close to drowning, he really wanted a hot bath. “Have you ever dealt with something like that thing before?”

“I don't typically hunt in the ocean.” Geralt's lips thinned. “I'm not overly fond of water that deep.”

“The lake with the Selkiemore was really deep.”

“And it was the only thing living there. The ocean has a much more diverse ecosystem.” Geralt blew out a breath. “And I don't have the right potions to deal with this.” As the cart pulled up in front of the manor house, Geralt led Jaskier inside. Ephrema came down the stairs to meet them.

“I've had a hot bath drawn in your room and I'll be up shortly with an herbal blend to help fortify you against the chill,” she said as she glided toward them across the foyer. “My husband is in a council meeting, but I've sent a courier with a message. He should be back later this afternoon.”

Jaskier shivered even though it was warmer up in the house than it had been down in the harbor. “T-thank you.”

Up in their room, the lute was set carefully aside on the bed and then Geralt stripped Jaskier out of his damp, salt stained clothing so he could inspect him for damage. Jaskier shivered as calloused fingertips grazed his skin, but it wasn't from the cold this time.

“I'm not hurt,” he murmured.

“Hn.” 

Jaskier settled into the tub, hissing as his chilled skin hit the hot water. There was a soft knock on the door, and Geralt went over to answer it before coming back with a steaming mug. He sniffed it carefully, lingering over it.

“Oh, for pity's sake, she's not trying to poison me.” Jaskier held his hands out and wiggled his fingers. 

Geralt curled his lip and handed it over. The tea tasted earthy and herbal with a tart note Jaskier couldn't identify. It also had a hefty splash of Dwarven spirits and he felt it warm him from the inside out. Ephrema made some excellent tea.

“Tell me about the Mer,” Jaskier said as he settled into the tub with the mug. 

“They're people with fish tails that live underwater.”

“That's it? Really?” Jaskier remembered the brightly colored scales. And the golden cat eyes. “Can Mer people be Witchers?”

“No.”

“But-”

“Jaskier, drink your damn tea.”

Jaskier looked at Geralt and tried to read his tight expression. But it was closed off in a way that was rare. The other man had always been a private person and Jaskier had a hell of a time getting him to talk, especially in the beginning. But this felt different. He didn't think it was fear that Jaskier almost died. He'd been far less angry and closed off when the Katakan had been chewing on Jaskier's neck in front of him. Jaskier finished the tea and washed the salt off his body and out of his hair before drying off and wrapping up in a soft robe and getting into bed. He was exhausted, but he wasn't sure if it was because he'd gotten so cold or because he'd tried to use his magic.

“I'm going to see Freixenet,” Geralt said as he headed out of the room. Jaskier watched him go curled up under the blankets, wondering what was bothering his Witcher.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone who's read my story 'Cerulean' may recognize the Merman. I'm making an alternate version of one of my original characters and adapting him to this universe. (And if you decide to read the other story, do so at your own discretion. Read the tags. It's much more graphic than this one. Apparently I write porn when I'm scared and stressed.)


	11. Lilac, Gooseberries, and Stew

When Jaskier woke, twilight was slowly deepening into night. There was no sign of Geralt so he dressed and headed downstairs. He stopped halfway down as his heart jumped up into his throat and started pounding. It felt like it was trying to punch its way out of his neck as he stared at Yennefer, who was standing just inside the door. Her violet eyes regarded him coolly, her posture stiff and regal in her long black gown. Had she come for him again? He hadn't seen her since she'd tried to dig her way into his brain three years ago. Jaskier's throat was suddenly dry and he wasn't sure what to say. If she wanted to take him, he knew he couldn't stop her. 

“Jaskier.” Ephrema's voice made him jump. He hadn't heard her come into the foyer over his own pulse thumping in his ears. 

“Yes?” he squeaked.

“This is Yennefer of Vengerberg. Yennefer, this is Jaskier the Bard. He's here as our guest.”

Jaskier swallowed, feeling like his throat was being scraped with sandpaper. “We've met.”

Yennefer's lip curled up, like she knew how much she was intimidating him and was enjoying it thoroughly. “So you're the one people can't stop talking about,” she said, her tone somehow both bored and amused at the same time. 

This couldn't have been the first time she'd heard his name. Had Geralt not told her about him? The Witcher had gotten her to help him rescue Jaskier from Lettenhove when his cousin Ferrant had him dragged back there. How did he convince her without telling her who Jaskier was? Yennefer continued to stare at him like it was his turn to speak. He felt the flicker of power hovering just under her skin, like she could set the place ablaze if she didn't keep it tightly controlled. He wondered if all sorceresses held that much untapped potential within them. He didn't envy them. It must be exhausting. He blew out a breath and tried to steady himself.

“Yup, that's me. Making an impression wherever I go,” he said, his tone loose and flippant as it usually was when he was nervous. 

Yennefer turned to look at Geralt who entered the room fully dressed in his armor with his silver sword on his back. “Are you finally ready? I do have things to do, after all,” she said.

“Where are you going?” Jaskier asked him with a frown. If Jaskier hadn't come down, would he have left without saying anything? He looked from Geralt to Yennefer and back again. There was something stretched between them but he wasn't sure what it was. He hadn't noticed the first time when he'd seen her in Lettenhove. But of course, he'd been a bit distracted at the time.

“I'll be back in a few days,” Geralt said, his tone flat.

“Surely it won't take you that long.” Yennefer's tone was prickly and teasing, but not in a friendly way. Geralt eyed her balefully. 

“Don't be difficult, Yen,” Geralt's growl sounded a bit defeated and it didn't have its customary bite.

“Whatever do you mean? I merely have more faith in you than you do in yourself.” The sickly sweet tone of her voice made Jaskier's teeth ache. She was teasing with a razor sharp edge that was designed to make others bleed. He'd met people like her back in Lettenhove, but he'd never seen anyone wield the skill with such precision. It made him stand up a bit straighter as irritation and a wash of protectiveness eased his nerves and steeled them. He came down the stairs, ignoring Yennefer and going over to Geralt.

“How's your shoulder? Is it healed enough?” He didn't ask Geralt what he was going to hunt. Jaskier knew he wouldn't get an answer right now. 

“It's fine,” Yennefer said behind him.

“I wasn't asking you,” Jaskier said offhandedly without looking at her, his hand flipping in a dismissive wave. He heard her suck in a soft hiss of breath. Hmmm. Powerful but easily offended when she thought she was being dismissed. He could work with that.

Geralt leaned in towards him. “Do not needle her,” he murmured quietly.

Jaskier didn't bother keeping his voice down. “Nobody treats you like shit.” He watched several emotions quickly flicker across Geralt's face before the other man's jaw tightened and they were shuttered away.

“I'll be back by the end of the week. Try not to get eaten by anything.”

Jaskier huffed and gave him a bland look. “Really.” He leaned up to kiss him and tried not to be disappointed when Geralt barely returned it. Jaskier didn't think he'd ever seen him this stressed before. “Be careful.”

“Sometime today,” Yennefer drawled. “I believe my teeth are rotting from such a saccharine display.”

“Fuck off,” Jaskier told her lazily as he turned to give her a bored look. She held his gaze silently, fury clear in her eyes even though she remained standing calmly by the door. Jaskier suddenly wasn't afraid of her anymore and he relaxed where he stood between her and Geralt. She was crazy powerful and scary still, but there was a fragile humanity hidden beneath layers of pain and self loathing. Yennefer blinked at him, like she was startled that he'd seen it. Her eyes became dead and cold in an instant as it was all tucked deeply away inside. Flicking her wrist, she opened a portal. The buffeting winds made the tapestry along the wall flap and Ephrema reached over to steady a vase of flowers that threatened to tip.

“Come with me or don't. I no longer care.” And then Yennefer was gone. The portal hung open still, like she fully expected Geralt to follow her. And of course he did. But he ran his hand softly down Jaskier's arm as he passed before heading through the portal. It closed, leaving Jaskier and Ephrema ruffled and alone. 

“Well,” she said before taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. 

“I'm sorry,” Jaskier told her as he leaned down to pick up a couple flowers that had been tossed free of the vase. He tucked them in with the others as Ephrema straightened the tapestry. “That was rude of me,” he said, suddenly feeling a bit sheepish about how he treated one of Ephrema's guests. This wasn't his house after all.

“And truly magnificent,” she said, with a touch of awe in her voice. “If a bit foolish,” she added.

“Why?”

Ephrema regarded him curiously for a moment. “While there are many who do not respect sorceresses and their abilities, most are still wary. I don't believe I've ever heard of anyone challenging one of them like that in front of others without suffering consequences.” 

Jaskier shrugged. “She's just a person.” An extremely powerful person that could probably melt him on the spot if she chose. That had been incredibly dumb and Jaskier clenched his fingers in an attempt to quell the shaking. One of these days he was probably going to regret this. But that was Future Jaskier's problem to deal with.

“Are you hungry?” she asked him.

“Very.”

“If you don't mind eating in the kitchen, I've been cooking since midday. My husband has gone out again to meet with the local Trade Guild and won't be back until later this evening.”

“As long as it's not too much trouble,” he said as he followed her to the back of the house. 

“Not at all. It's not often I get to indulge. Have you eaten Zerrikanian food before?” 

“I haven't had the pleasure.” 

“Can your tongue tolerate hot spices?”

“I love spicy food.” There had been a tiny, hole-in-the-wall restaurant in Lettenhove that made an amazing spicy soup that always made his nose run. Jaskier had never been brave enough to try the ultra version, but he'd enjoyed everything up to that level.

There were wonderful, spicy smells wafting in their direction and Jaskier came into a well appointed kitchen with a large open hearth that had stacked ovens along one side and a large iron flattop on the other. It also had a cold well in one corner. Dried herbs and garlic hung from the rafters in large bundles. The thick glass windows had been thrown open to the warm evening air and they looked out on part of the garden and the large greenhouse beside it. It was far more decorative and elegant looking than the utilitarian structure of thick glass and iron back in Kaer Morhen.

He took a seat at the heavy table as Ephrema checked on the small pots that were simmering on a hook over the fire. There was a bowl of dough rising on the sideboard by the warm hearth and she punched it down before cutting off a piece and laying it out on the floured surface to roll it out. When it was several inches across, she tossed it onto the oiled flattop and fried it on both sides.

When she was done, there was a plate of fried flat bread, and she set a bowl of hearty looking stew the color of dandelions in front of Jaskier. It had meat and vegetables and it smelled spicy with a hint of something sweet. The meal was complimented by a chilled, sweet tea served in a cold mug. She portioned out some for herself and tore off a piece of bread to scoop out some of the stew. After letting it cool so he wouldn't burn his tongue, Jaskier followed suit and had to suck in a breath over his full mouth as it started tingling and burning. Oh, that was tasty. Among other flavors, he could taste pepper and cinnamon, and a sweetness he couldn't identify. It was a complex mix of spices that kept changing as he savored it. Sipping the tea to cool his mouth, he smiled.

“This is so good.” 

Ephrema beamed. “I'm glad you like it. 

They ate and talked quietly for a while. Ephrema was charming and funny and Jaskier found her easy to talk to. He learned about Zerrikania far to the east where she was born. He was fascinated by her descriptions of the deep canyon her village was located in. It was nearly three miles deep and took more than five days to travel from one end to the other. Its lush jungle was protected in the deep crevasse while the surrounding land above it was dry scrub brush and desert. Jaskier could barely comprehend that kind of height. Ephrema's father had been a traveling trader and when he'd died unexpectedly, it left her to find her own way in the Northern Kingdoms. And then she'd met Freixenet shortly after he'd inherited the barony. She trailed off in a quiet sigh and didn't go on from there. He wondered if she'd been here when he'd been turned into a cormorant. 

“So when will your friends arrive tomorrow?” he asked when they were finished eating. 

“Do you feel well enough to play? You looked quite pale when you returned from the docks.”

“I'm much better now. Aside from a brief chill from unexpectedly swimming in the ocean, nothing terrible happened. I would be happy to entertain your guests.”

The baron came in from the back garden. “The hens should arrives shortly after noontime and they'll stay until after dark,” he said as he leaned down and kissed his wife. She batted his arm.

“Better hens than a bunch of swaggering cocks drinking spirits until all hours of the night,” she teased. 

Jaskier sat quietly and wondered if they'd forgotten he was there. 

“Forgive us for being forward,” Freixenet said with a sheepish grin. “Decorum is overrated and I rarely engage in it in my own kitchen.”

“No worries,” Jaskier said. “You should be free to speak as you wish in your own home.”

“Will you sit with me while I eat, Jaskier? I have a few questions for you about today, if you don't mind.”

“Of course.”

Ephrema got up and made some fresh flatbread before serving up a bowl of stew from the second pot for her husband. She kissed the top of his head and cleaned up the counter tops and the other dishes before bidding them a goodnight and leaving the room. 

“She's a wonder,” Freixenet said as he dug in and savored the meal. 

“Her cooking is excellent.” Jaskier took another sip of tea. “Though my mouth is still burning.”

“Hmm. I wish I could tolerate the burn, but my stomach isn't quiet that resilient. She always makes me a milder batch, so I can at least enjoy the other flavors.” He took a bite of bread and stew before washing it down with tea. “So, tell me what you saw out on the water.”

“To be honest, I didn't see much. The boat started rocking and the next thing I knew, I was underwater.” Jaskier wasn't quite sure he wanted to tell him about the Merman. “There was a big shape and then I was back up in the boat again and Geralt was taking us back to the docks. He said it was some type of serpent.”

“How much do you know about Yennefer?“ he asked him.

“Um. Nothing, really.” Jaskier shrugged, thrown by the sudden change of subject and unsure of what to say. “I was actually hoping you'd know something. I only met her once, and it wasn't exactly a pleasant experience.” He grimaced. “Geralt doesn't talk about her.”

Freixenet nodded as he mopped up the last of the stew and sat back with his tea. “Sorceresses like their privacy and I'm pretty sure they enjoy creating an aura of mystique about themselves.” He sighed. “She's been in town for a bit, offering various services.”

“Does anyone have a problem with magic here?” Jaskier asked. He didn't advertise his own abilities, but it couldn't hurt to be careful. 

“Not really. There will always be those who are wary. We get a fair amount of travelers from Bremervoord and Cidaris. Some Moderns can get a bit twitchy when they see magic for the first time. And we've had to root out the occasional Eternal Fire cultist. But I pride myself on being open and welcoming as long as people follow the laws and don't harm anyone.

“You're more open minded than most, especially giving your personal history with magic.” Jaskier didn't really know him well enough to tease, but he had a feeling he wouldn't mind.

Freixenet grinned and it turned a bit sheepish. “Magic itself was not responsible for my brief experience as a bird. That was my own fault, really.” He didn't elaborate, but that was fine. Freixenet sighed. “I just wish I knew what she wanted. Her services seem harmless enough and nobody has complained about the results,” he said with a frown.

“But?”

“But I think she's here for something specific. Since you travel with Geralt and he seems to know her, I was hoping you'd know something.”

“Sorry.” Jaskier was starting to get a bit worried. Yennefer wanted something and she needed Geralt to get it, which made it dangerous. But what would a sorceress need a Witcher for? 

“No matter.” Freixenet regarded Jaskier for a moment, sipping his tea thoughtfully. “How did you and Geralt meet?”

“He was escorting the caravan that took me into the Wood for the first time.” Jaskier didn't go into detail. There was much more to it than that, but he wasn't going to get into it. “We started traveling together after that.”

“I don't think I've ever seen him travel with a companion before.”

“You don't think he traveled with Yennefer?” There was definitely some history between them, but he had no idea what is was.

Freixenet scoffed. “I seriously doubt it. Sorceresses do not travel on foot and Geralt hates portals.”

Really. That was interesting to hear. Jaskier hadn't been through a one since Geralt had come to Lettenhove to rescue him. When Geralt had carried him through the portal, there hadn't been any hesitation on the other man's face. Granted, Jaskier had been extremely distracted by healing a gunshot wound in his own shoulder and the fact that his cousin had tried to genetically experiment on him. Maybe he'd missed it. And earlier in the foyer, he seemed more resigned then bothered.

“Well,” Freixenet said, getting to his feet. “It's been a long day and I've an early morning tomorrow, so I'm going to head to bed. I probably won't see you again until tomorrow evening.” He clapped Jaskier on the back as he passed. “Have fun dodging the harpies.” 

Jaskier watched him go and figured that the other man had never seen real harpies. No matter how shrill or ill behaved Ephrema's friends turned out to be, Jaskier would never make such a comparison himself after seeing the real deal. Genuine harpies were the stuff of nightmares with twisted winged bodies and a misshapen female faces hidden behind a wicked beak. He had a a line of thin, jagged scars on his right hip from an incident where his vantage point hadn't been as safe as he'd thought. Geralt had been pissed when he found Jaskier singing and bloody with crimson soaking into his trousers after he'd explicitly told him to stay behind at their camp. 

Jaskier went upstairs and curled up in bed alone, trying not to think about Geralt being off somewhere with Yennefer. He'd tried to ask about her a couple of times, but Geralt had shut him down immediately and refused to talk about her. It was rare for him to be so closed off about anything around Jaskier these days. He didn't exactly spill his guts and tell him stories from his childhood or anything, but he generally answered questions when asked, even if his answers were short and terse. Jaskier cherished the moments when he freely opened up about anything whether it was the history of a place or bestiary lore. He said he'd be back by the end of the week, but that was several days from now. Jaskier would have to find something to do with himself in the meantime.


	12. The Merman and the Maiden

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warning: There is some attempted non-con in this chapter. It's only one brief scene and it's not a prevalent theme here, so I didn't tag the story. But I don't want to catch anyone by surprise.

The next morning, Jaskier took his lute and a blanket down to the beach. He took off his boots and walked barefoot in the sand as the cool sea breeze ruffled his hair. The sky was clear and the sun was warm. Jaskier closed his eyes and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as he felt his body relax. They should have done this sooner. He just wished Geralt was here. The Witcher could stand to relax a little bit as well. For as much as he'd healed and relaxed in Brokilon, he seemed twice as tense now. Whatever his relationship with Yennefer was, it was certainly complicated and unhappy. 

Jaskier moved down the beach towards an outcropping of rocks that jutted out into the water. Laying the blanket out, he sat with the lute in his lap and started to play. It had been a while since he'd just sat and played to let the melody find its own way. New surroundings were ripe for providing inspiration. He lost himself in the music as he closed his eyes and let it take him where it would. His fingers danced over the strings in bright trills of sound, as he sang of the sun sparkling on the water and the waves crashing against the shore and the rocks around him. 

An odd splash broke the hush of the waves as Jaskier opened his eyes to see the Merman leaning on the rocks a few feet away with his arms folded in front of him. His auburn hair trailed in a long, wet braid over his right shoulder with brightly colored glass beads threaded through the strands. A silver sword with wings for a crossguard poked above his other shoulder, held in place by a makeshift harness across his bare chest. His lower half was submerged with the waves lapped lazily at his hips. Golden cat eyes regarded Jaskier calmly. 

“Thank you for yesterday,” Jaskier said as he stopped playing. “I'm Jaskier.”

The Merman nodded but didn't say anything. 

“Do you live here?”

The Merman shook his head.

“Not much of a talker, are you?”

The other man opened his mouth automatically like he might reply but then shut it hard enough to make his teeth click together. It was obvious he wanted to say something. He frowned and huffed out a breath before tapping his fingertips against his throat. The movement revealed an octagonal shaped medallion depicting a bird in flight hanging around his neck.

“You can't speak?”

The Merman shook his head. 

“Are you a Witcher?” Jaskier asked, nodding at the sword and medallion.

A nod.

“Geralt said the Mer couldn't become Witchers.”

The Merman raised a brow and flicked his tail where it lay in the water behind him, making his copper flukes break the surface in an irritable gesture. 

“Right.” 

The Merman tapped his fingers on the rock irritably and looked away for a moment like he was thinking. Looking back at Jaskier, he made a gesture with two of his fingers like they were walking across the rock and then pointed to himself.

“You used to have legs?” He couldn't believe he was playing charades with a Merman.

A nod.

“Is it a curse?”

An enthusiastic nod. 

“Were you waiting for me to come back down here?”

The Merman shook his head.

“How did you know I was here then?”

The other man pointed to the lute and then gripped the medallion.

“You heard the music?” Jaskier wasn't sure the sound could travel underwater that far. The last time he'd seen him, it had been much farther out on the ocean. How could he. . .? “No, you felt my magic,” Jaskier said with a sigh.

The Merman nodded solemnly, his lips thinning as he gripped the rock hard enough to make his knuckles white. There was a flash of desperation in his gaze.

“I'm really bad at it. I can't make it do what I want,” Jaskier said, feeling his stomach sink. If the other man wanted him to break the curse, that could be a problem. “The only thing I've been able to do is heal myself and sing to trees.”

The merman took a deep breath and blew it out, clearly disappointed. 

“There's a sorceress named Yennefer. . .”

The merman shook his head violently and glanced around like Yennefer might appear at any moment. He moved to leave and Jaskier threw out a hand.

“Wait! She's not here right now and I won't tell her about you. I promise. Don't go, I'm sorry. I know they're not exactly friendly.” Especially her, he thought.

The merman visibly calmed and nodded, but he remained tense.

“Did one of them do this to you?” Jaskier asked him.

The other man opened his mouth again and sighed before shaking his head and slumping down against the rock like he was suddenly tired.

“Long story?”

A nod and a sigh.

Jaskier glanced at the sky to check the position of the sun. He'd have to head back to the manor soon to meet Ephrema's guests. “Listen, I've got to go, but I'll come back tomorrow. Will you be here?”

The merman considered it and looked over in the direction of the harbor. He must be hidden from view where he as sitting low in the water, but he still looked wary.

“Too close to the harbor?”

A nod. 

“Is there somewhere you feel safer?”

The Merman thought for a moment before pointing further down the beach. There was a larger crest of rocks where the water bent around the other side out of sight. 

“Okay. I'll meet you over there. Can you write? I can bring. . .hmm. Not paper and ink obviously,” Jaskier muttered to himself. “What else? Maybe I can find a slate and chalk.”

The merman's eyes widened and he nodded, like he'd never considered it. But he was obviously on board.

“Okay. I'll figure something out then. As much as I love playing twenty questions, I think it might be easier if you could answer more than yes or no.” And maybe he could learn his name. It would be better than referring to him as Merman all the time. “I'll see you at the same time tomorrow.”

The Merman watched him put his lute in the case and brush the sand off his feet so he could put his boots back on. Then he gathered up the blanket as he stood. There was a wistful regret in the Merman's gaze, like he was afraid Jaskier wouldn't show up the next day. 

“I'll be here. I promise,” Jaskier said quietly.

The Merman sighed and nodded before pushing back and disappearing beneath the waves with a flick of purple and copper scales.

******** 

Back up at the manor, Jaskier could smell wonderful things in the kitchen and figured Ephrema was cooking for her guests. He nipped upstairs to change into his last set of spare clothes. After losing more than one piece of clothing to monsters and the elements, he'd started carrying an extra set that he only wore when playing to ensure he'd have something clean. Traveling with a Witcher was rough on the wardrobe.

When he came back down, Ephrema offered him something to eat before getting him settled in a corner of the large parlor. It was full of comfortable looking furniture and colorful paintings. There was a large side board laid out with various finger sized nibbles along with a section of wines, expensive spirits, and cordials. There were two easels with paints and brushes and a basket of fabric with colorful thread off to one side. Apparently the ladies were coming together to craft for the afternoon. And probably gossip. Jaskier had spent enough times in households and smaller courts to get a feel for what noble ladies liked to do when they got together. Ephrema set a pitcher of chilled water and a mug on a small table at Jaskier's side with a smile before heading to the front door to greet her first guest. 

Jaskier started playing a simple melody as he heard female voices from the foyer. There was a delighted exclamation. When the women entered the room, they were tittering about Jaskier. All three gave him appreciative glances as they entered. Apparently, his reputation preceded him and he fought not to grimace as he remembered Geralt's ire. He really didn't encourage people to touch him, but there was value in a persona that was considered available. If a few bored housewives and stable boys chose to fantasize, who was he to judge? 

“You've outdone yourself, Ephrema,” one of the women said as she settled at one of the easels. Her blonde hair was pinned back from her face in a twist of coils at her nape and her blue eyes twinkled mischievously. She unfolded a waiting apron and put it on to keep from getting paint on her elaborately designed dress. 

“What a lovely surprise.” She winked at Jaskier. He smiled back and played a complicated series of notes.

“Oh,” one of the others said as she sat next to the basket of fabric. “Sing Midday Maiden,” she said. Her brown hair lay in a loose braid, her dress simpler in design.

“Nothing sad, Paulina,” the third said. “Not today. Something happy,” she said to Jaskier as she claimed the second easel. Tall and practical looking, her hair was tucked under a soft cap as she pulled her apron on.

“That's so boring, Madeline. I like a bit of sadness to remind me what happiness is like.”

Madeline rolled her eyes and poured herself something to drink from the spread and popped a morsel in her mouth. Ephrema brought in another basket of fabric and settled on the couch next to Paulina. 

“Let Winnifred decide,” she said evenly. “After all, next week is her birthday. Consider it an early present.”

The blonde with the mischievous smile and the twinkling eyes looked thoughtfully at Jaskier for a moment as she filled a goblet with wine. “Something romantic.” Her smile deepened. “Sing Sunshine at Midnight.” 

Jaskier finished a trail of notes, wondering why she'd chosen that one, but he didn't comment as he played the opening bars. The song was about the warmth of the heart around a fire in the middle of the night. Most people thought it was about lost souls coming together under cover of dark. Nobody knew that Jaskier had written it about Geralt's eyes and the way they reflected firelight. He felt a brief pang as he began to sing, but he did his best to not let it affect the music. Jaskier suddenly wished Geralt was here. 

The afternoon passed pleasantly with the women painting and sewing embroidery while they chatted. They ate and drank and laughed. Jaskier alternated between singing requested songs and playing wordless melodies in the background. He caught Winnifred making eyes at him on several occasions and smiled back, but tried not to encourage her beyond that. In the beginning as Jaskier had started to travel, he quickly found that he enjoyed larger crowds better than smaller gatherings. There was nothing quite like having a room full of people singing along. The background noise of mugs on tables, talking voices, and cutlery on stoneware also added a layer of life to the music that was hard to replicate. 

When he excused himself for a break later in the afternoon, he went out into the greenhouse to think for a while. He'd become distracted while playing and while the ladies probably hadn't noticed, he wasn't quite satisfied while his performance. Jaskier was preoccupied with wondering how he was going to help the Merman, and worrying about Geralt and what he was doing with Yennefer. He perused the exotic blooms and plants, some of which must have come from Zerrikania. A squat, gnarled tree sat in the middle of the space surrounded by a pump-fed pool surrounding the roots. A small stone bench sat at its base. 

There was a rustle of greenery, and Jaskier turned to see Winnifred picking her way among the plants. She'd taken off the apron and her cerulean gown glittered in the filtered sunlight coming in through the glass like a sapphire gem. The sight might have inspired a bit of poetry if he'd been in a better mood, but he wasn't in the right frame of mind at the moment.

“Finally, I get you all to myself,” she said with a coquettish flick of her lashes. She was quite good, and if Jaskier hadn't grown up surrounded by the rich and manipulative, he might have been taken in by it. As it was, he kept his expression pleasant but neutral. 

“I fear my voice needs a bit of rest before I can continue,” he said with a gentle smile as she minced her way forward, her slippers making no sound on the turf.

“Oh, it's not your voice I'm interested in,” she said, her expression heated. She came forward and he found himself pressed back against the trunk of the short tree as he tried to keep some space between them. The edge of the bench bit into the back of his knees. She leaned into him and he was suddenly surrounded my the smell of vanilla musk. He wasn't sure why anyone thought that the smell of rutting animals was attractive.

“Then what can I do for you?” He knew what she wanted and he was trying to find a way out of it.

“I'm here to unwrap my present. My birthday is coming up soon.” Her delicate fingers started unbuttoning his doublet.

“Ah, I'm afraid you've misunderstood.” At least he hoped she had. He didn't think Ephrema would make that kind of offer to someone else without speaking to him first. She seemed too genuine to do something that careless. 

“I think it's _you_ who misunderstand.” Winnifred's words were still sweet, but they held an edge now as she gripped the open fold of his doublet and pushed against his chest, lightly pinning him to the tree as her other hand dipped lower.

“ _Madam_ ,” Jaskier sputtered as he tried to dislodge her fingers. He'd cornered himself between the folds of the bark and he couldn't to step away from her without physically shoving her aside. 

Her blue eyes darkened like a cold storm. “Really,” she huffed. “For all your flirtations, you protest this much?” Her irritation was quickly flaring into anger. “You'd better change your tune, minstrel, if you expect to get your fee. That's not the kind of game I'm paying for today.”

“I'm not a whore,” Jaskier said, his own voice instantly chilling as he grasped her wrists firmly and pulled her hands roughly off him. He wasn't interested in teasing or being polite anymore. Whatever she expected of him, she wasn't going to get it. 

“You're whatever I say you are,” she hissed as she twisted in his grip. “I'll scream and tell them you attacked me.”

“And I wouldn't believe you,” Ephrema said from the doorway where she stood stiff and unyielding. Her voice was low and commanding, her accent thicker in her ire. “I believe you should say your goodbyes for the evening and leave, Winni.”

Winnifred's expression shifted from calculation to distress instantly. She even managed to muster up a sheen of tears in her eyes. Impressive. “But this bastard. He-”

“Has done nothing but get insulted and assaulted for his trouble.” Ephrema cut her off. “Let me rephrase my request, as my Common appears to hard to understand just now. Get out before I throw you out.”

Winnifred's distress melted easily, the quick deception dropping instantly when she realized it served no purpose here. She stopped fighting Jaskier and when he loosened his grip, she yanked her hands away and smoothed her gown. Drawing herself up, she glided out of the room as if it were her own idea. As she passed Ephrema, she tilted her head up with a condescending expression on her face. 

“If you thought getting trade permits passed during council meetings was hard before, just you wait. I'll make sure your pathetic husband has to fight tooth and nail to get anything done.” And then she sashayed out of the room like she owned the place. 

Jaskier leaned back against the tree and sat on the small bench, letting the tension drain out of him. “I'm sorry.”

“No.” Ephrema shook her head and came further into the greenhouse to regard him with a mournful expression. “It is I who am sorry. Please accept my deepest apologies. If I had thought she would go this far, I never would have suggested you play for us.”

“It's alright.”

“It is _not_ alright,” she insisted. There was a hardness in her eyes, but it wasn't directed at him. “You are your own person. It is shameful that she tried to force herself upon you after you declined.”

“This isn't going to make the baron's job harder, is it?”

Ephrema huffed in bitter amusement. “Not as much as she claims. Her husband is the Trade Chancellor and he'll try to bend to her wishes to keep her happy. But Gustav thinks he's more important than he is. The guild leaders tolerate him because no one actually wants his job, not because he's good at it.”

“She's _Gustav's_ wife?” Jaskier's lips quirked up. “They deserve each other.” He caught himself. “Sorry,” he said, feeling a bit guilty. “Why are you friends with her? She doesn't exactly seem like she's. . .”

“She is not a good person,” Ephrema said, voicing his thoughts aloud. “Were I free to choose my companions for the sake of their company alone, I would stay with my husband among the plants and flowers. Paulina and Madeline are genuinely kind, but we do not have very much in common. But I spend time with them because they are of the nobility here. Such is the price for being married to my husband.” Her smile became wistful, it's genuine fondness making her features soften. “But it is worth the effort.” 

Now that was the kind of love to write songs about. 

“Thank you for intervening. I think I will have to excuse myself from playing any more today.” 

“It's alright. Stay here for a bit while I escort my guests out. I'm sure Winnifred has had enough time to tell her side of the story now and I doubt they'll want to stay.” With that, she left Jaskier alone with only the plants for company. 

He leaned back into the gnarled tree and stretched his legs out in front of him. He whispered a song to himself as he tried to settle his frazzled nerves. Today was not going well.


	13. Under the Sea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good morning, Dear Readers. I'm posting a little early today. I've been home for several weeks on leave and I only have one more week before I go back to work full time. I've been cruising through the third story in this series and I'm going to see how much of it I can get done while I have unlimited time to work on it. But rest assured, that I shall continue even after I've gone back to work. This will give me a lovely head start on my posting schedule. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading. This continues to be an incredibly enjoyable experience.

The next day, Jaskier went down to the beach again and wandered over towards the larger outcropping of rock that the Merman had indicated the day before. The sky was overcast with gray clouds that threatened rain. Jaskier had brought his waxed cotton cloak just in case, but he supposed the worst that would happen is he'd get wet. His lute apparently didn't need to be babied the way he'd originally thought, even though he'd probably still do so. He hefted the pack of supplies. Jaskier had a hunch and he'd brought his cooking gear along with some things he'd gotten from Ephrema. She'd been more than happy to supply him with what he asked for after what had happened the previous afternoon. He didn't feel she owed him, but she had absolutely refused to allow him to pay for anything. 

As he crested the hill of rock, he could see the Merman lounging with his eyes closed in a shallow pool created by a small cradle of rocks. His sword lay next to him within reach. This close to the surface, his tail was much more visible. It was a long muscled length of purple scales with thick copper ridges along his waist that framed the curve of his hipbones. His long copper flukes glistened in the dim light of the cloudy sky. Scars decorated the planes of his bare torso. There were gnarled bumps of scar tissue in a half circle along his abdomen as if something had tried to take a bite out of his left side. Jaskier could see the shimmering lines of what must be gills just behind his ears, but he seemed to be able to breathe above water as well. The Merman opened his eyes and tilted his head up to regard Jaskier thoughtfully. 

“Good morning,” Jaskier said. 

The Merman nodded.

“So. First thing's first. I'd like to call you something other than 'Merman'. What's your name?” Jaskier pulled out the slate and chalk he'd brought and handed it over. The Merman took it and swiftly wrote a few clear letters.

“Corbyn.” Jaskier smiled. “That's a nice name. Alright. Next question. Coffee or tea?”

Corbyn blinked at him for a moment, not really comprehending as Jaskier held up his pack. 

“I'm not sure how long you've been trapped in the water, but something tells me you haven't had a properly made cup of anything in a while. He smiled again when he saw the naked longing in the other man's eyes. Apparently, his hunch had been correct and he set down his things. “Just give me a little bit to gather some driftwood. I'll be right back.” 

Jaskier gathered what he could find, and came back with an armful of dry wood. Soon, he had a respectable fire going in a sheltered hollow of rock next to the pool. Corbyn held out his hand toward the flames, just shy of touching, and closed his eyes. He let out a shuddering breath. Jaskier wondered when the last time he'd been able to enjoy the warmth of a fire. He watched him quietly while he got out the rest of his things. Corbyn regarded the spread with a bemused smile and handed Jaskier the slate. Tea was written clearly at the top and the rest of it was filled with text that had been hastily scribbled, almost like the chalk had trouble keeping up with his thoughts. How long had it been since he'd talked to anyone?

Jaskier set his small kettle on the fire and read the slate while they waited for it to boil. Corbyn was a Witcher of the Crane school that specialized in sea monsters. He'd been hunting a Sea Witch who was tormenting humans and she'd gotten the upper hand, turning him into a Merman while she had escaped onto the land. Then he'd been captured by Vodyanoy who thought he was trying to invade their territory. Now he was working with them as they tried to keep their border secure. 

“What's a Vodyanoy?” Jaskier asked him. 

Corbyn thought for a moment, his fingers tapping the surface of the pool and making ripples trail out from his hands. Taking the slate back, he wiped it clean with the cloth Jaskier handed him and continued to write while Jaskier started preparing the tea. They traded the slate for the mug of tea and Corbyn inhaled the scent deeply. 

“Can you smell anything underwater?”

Corbyn shook his head and took another deep breath before blowing on the mug and taking a sip. He took a deep breath and sighed contentedly. 

“Vodyanoy are fish people,” Jaskier said flatly as he read the text. He rolled his eyes over towards Corbyn and gave him a flat look. “So descriptive,” he muttered. The Merman's lips twitched in a small smirk and he shrugged. Jaskier shook his head. “it's a wonder you guys ever got any of the bestiaries written. I'm surprised they have more the two words and a stick figure drawing for each entry.”

Corbyn tilted his head and looked at him quizzically. 

“I've spent a couple winters in Kaer Morhen,” Jaskier said with a shrug. “The man who was in the boat with me is Geralt. He's a Witcher of the Wolf school.” At Corbyn's incredulous look, Jaskier grinned. “Half of my friends are Witchers.”

Corbyn sipped the tea, clearly surprised and confused by what he'd said. He wasn't sure if it was because of Geralt or that Jaskier was declaring he was friends with Witchers. Jaskier knew that the general public had a less than friendly attitude towards the warriors that kept them safe. It probably hadn't been any better when Corbyn was last on the land. Jaskier was slowly tipping the scales in their favor with his songs, but it was slow going. He pulled out his pan and the rest of his supplies along with his chest of spices and oils. Corbyn's brows raised at the sight of the spread, especially the chest. 

“Why is everyone so surprised that I like flavor?” Jaskier asked absently as he pulled out the cut of dry, aged beef, a couple potatoes, and an onion. Corbyn pulled a knife from a hidden pocket on the outside of his sword sheath and started peeling the potatoes and slicing the onions without being asked while Jaskier cut and browned the meat. Corbyn took his time and ran his fingers over the root vegetables before and after he cut them up as he inhaled deeply. He didn't even seem to mind when the onions made his eyes water.

When they were done, they sat together and ate directly out of the pan in companionable silence. Jaskier was used to doing the talking, but Corbyn was too engrossed in savoring the food and he didn't want to interrupt him. When they were finished, Jaskier set the pan aside to cool so he could scrub it with sand later. Then he pulled out a bottle of red wine and a precious bar of semisweet chocolate. It looked like Corbyn was going to cry when he saw it. The Witcher reached out and laid his fingers on the back of Jaskier's hand, his amber cat eyes full of emotion and gratitude. 

“It's okay,” Jaskier said quietly. “I don't know if I can help you. This is literally the least I can do.”

Corbyn nodded, swallowing hard as he pulled his hand back.

“Did you kill the serpent?” Jaskier asked him, trying to change the subject.

Corbyn frowned and shook his head, pulling the slate towards him and writing again. 

Jaskier read the words that Corbyn continued to write. “You're trying to _protect_ it? Why?” 

It was a sacred beast revered by the Vodyanoy and it had been disturbed from it's slumber by something, but they didn't know what. Corbyn was trying to keep it away from the ships so it wouldn't become hunted while trying to figure out how to herd it back out to sea towards its home. It was sleeping at the moment, which is why Corbyn was able to take a break. So why had the serpent attacked Jaskier and Geralt's skiff? 

Jaskier picked up his lute and started to play as he thought about what to do next. He focused on Corbyn for a bit as the Merman nibbled on chocolate and drank wine straight from the bottle to see if he could feel some sort of spell. Sometimes he could consciously detect magic, sometimes it was instinctual in a way that made it hard for him to feel. He could see through glamours without realizing it, but he'd been able to feel the hold of a paralysis spell the had been cast on him which allowed him to tear it apart. Jaskier could feel the hum of the medallion Corbyn wore and the Merman curled his fingers around it as Jaskier played. But he didn't feel anything from Corbyn himself aside from the thrum of life that came from a living being. Jaskier frowned and continued to play, thinking about ocean waves and sea breezes. 

He was drawn out of his musings when Corbyn started gesturing wildly. He'd let himself get lost in the music as he often did when he was thinking or trying to solve a problem. It wasn't until Corbyn reached out to still the strings and a shadow fell over them both that Jaskier looked at him directly. Movement out of the corner of his eye made him turn.

“Wha-oooohmygoodnessitshuge!” Jaskier's question trailed off into a babbling exclamation as an enormous serpentine shape rose up out of the ocean and leaned down towards him. The water cascading off its body put out the fire and its pointed snout hovered less than a foot from his face. When its maw opened, it could have swallowed him whole. The jagged teeth were as long as his hand and it turned it's head to look at him closely. A pale gray eye the size of his head regarded him with a level of intelligence he hadn't expected. Jaskier didn't think it would be able to hold a conversation or anything, but it was certainly aware on higher level than an ordinary fish. 

“Helloooo,” Jaskier said cautiously. Out of the corner of his eye Corbyn had an expression on his face that made it look like he wanted to slap his palm to his forehead in exasperation. Gently dislodging the Merman's hand from the lute strings, Jaskier stared to play again and was relieved when the serpent moved back a bit and lowered into the water so only to top of its head was visible. It let out a gurgling sound that seemed to convey contentment as it closed its eyes. Jaskier nearly chuckled, but was too scared to do so as his heart continued to thump in his chest. That had scared the crap out of him and he needed a few minutes to settle and figure out what to do next.

Corbyn looked from the serpent to Jaskier and back with a confused expression his face. He leaned forward to putt a hand on the serpent's snout. It nosed at his palm, but didn't seem perturbed by the touch. Corbyn looked back at Jaskier with a bit of awe. 

“Geralt gives me shit and keeps saying that things will eat me if I try to charm them.” Jaskier shrugged and continued to play. “But here we are.”

Corbyn's eyes narrowed and he tilted his head again.

“Sorry, sorry. Do you speak Elder Speech? It happens by accident, but I'm a little too distracted at the moment to concentrate on Common.”

Corbyn nodded.

“Oh good,” Jaskier huffed as he continued to play, relieved that he wouldn't have to switch languages. “Sometimes it gets to be such a hassle trying to switch back. It's a long story,” he said a bit sheepishly as the Merman continued to stare. He wondered how much time he'd have to solve Corbyn's problem. Once Geralt got back from whatever he was doing with Yennefer, he probably wouldn't want to stay. 

Before they could continue the conversation, there was a series of splashes and suddenly, Jaskier found himself surrounded. Tall, scaly humanoid figures with fish heads and huge eyes stood in a circle around him. They must be Vodyanoy. Sharp angular fins ran down their limbs towards their webbed hands and feet. They held fantastical swords and spears and all of them were staring at Jaskier with expressions he couldn't quite interpret. Corbyn was alarmed, but when he tried to move closer, the nearest Vodyanoy shifted quickly to pin him in the pool with the points of its trident hovering over his throat. Corbyn carefully made some gestures with his hands and the Vodyanoy gurgled something harsh in return. Corbyn shook his head and the Vodyanoy barked back, ignoring what he was trying to say while it nodded at its companions. 

“Wait just a minute-” Jaskier sputtered as two of them reached down and hauled him to his feet. They held his arms in a tight grip while a third approached him and took a vial out of a pouch at its belt. It gripped Jaskier's cheeks in his webbed hand and poured the contents down his throat before he could stop it. Then it covered Jaskier's mouth and nose with its scaled webbing so he was forced to swallow. The awful taste of fish and brine filled his mouth and it burned all the way down. The lute dropped from his quickly numbing fingers, but he didn't hear it hit the rocks. When he was allowed to breathe again, Jaskier was gasping for air. It was harder to take in a breath and he slumped in his captors' grip as they dragged him to the edge of the rock and dove into the water, taking him with them. 

It was so cold. Jaskier sputtered and choked as he sucked in a lungful of water. Darkness was quickly encroaching on his vision and his lungs burned like he was drowning in acid.

“Let him go, he's choking,” an unfamiliar voice said. “You took him into the water too soon.”

“He will adapt,” said another. The sound rippled through the water oddly. 

“Not if he drowns first, Virgil. Give him to me.” 

“Have a care, Corbyn. You have no authority.” 

Corbyn was speaking? Jaskier's thoughts were getting muzzy as they moved deeper. Maybe he was imagining all of this. 

“Amorelius trusts me and that's all the authority I need,” Corbyn replied, his tone hard. “And she's getting restless because she thinks you're hurting him.” 

A huge shadow surged in the water and circled around them ominously. Jaskier was released to float in the water as he continued to struggle for air. A strong arm wound around his waist and lips sealed over his own, making him close his eyes. It wasn't romantic so much as functional. Jaskier was suddenly able to fill his lungs as Corbyn breathed for him. When Corbyn released his mouth, he murmured against Jaskier's lips. 

“Relax. Don't fight it. I know it's difficult.”

Jaskier sucked in more water and sputtered as he clung to Corbyn's shoulders, but it didn't seem to sting as much this time. 

“That's it,” Corbyn said as he smoothed his fingers over Jaskier's throat and rubbed a hand up and down his back. It took a few tries, but Jaskier was able to find a steady rhythm of breathing water in and out that kept him from choking. He opened his eyes to see Corbyn watching him with concern. 

“You can talk,” Jaskier said, his voice bubbling oddly in the water. 

“Only underwater.” He shrugged. “It's part of the curse. I didn't mention it before because it seemed irrelevant at the time.” Corbyn's deep lyrical voice curled around the words. 

“Let's go,” one of the Vodyanoy said as he grabbed the back of Jaskier's doublet and pulled him away from Corbyn. He was speaking a guttural sounding version of Elder Speech. 

“Go where?” Jaskier asked him, flailing a bit in the water as he tried to get his bearings underwater. The serpent continued to circle them nervously and they had to stop. One of the other Vodyanoy thrust Jaskier's lute at him.

“Play,” it barked.

Corbyn steadied Jaskier in the water with a hand on his shoulder. “They want you to play for her to see if she'll follow you.”

Jaskier put the strap over his shoulder and strummed the lute experimentally, trying to get a feel for the sound underwater. It wasn't quite the same and it didn't sound right. He glared at the Vodyanoy leader, presumably Virgil. 

“You could have asked me.” He fought not to recoil as a large, toothy fish face pressed into his personal space. 

“I do not _ask_ for anything,” Virgil burbled menacingly. “You are the one who disturbed Amorelius' rest. You are the one who will return her to her breeding grounds.” He shoved a scaly, clawed finger into Jaskier's chest as the other Vodyanoy surrounded Corbyn and Jaskier. “Now _play._ ”

Corbyn's arm came around Jaskier's waist and pulled him back against his body protectively. “I will make sure you are returned to the surface. I promise.”

“We'll see,” Virgil said It was still hard to tell what kind of expression was on his face. 

Squeezing Jaskier's waist gently, Corbyn drew Jaskier back through the water so his arms were free to play. Jaskier tried to relax and took a breath of water as he tried not to think about how deep they were going. It was starting to get darker and colder which made his fingers cramp. The Vodyanoy swam around them like some kind of escort and Amorelius followed behind, her long sinuous body trailing off into the water behind her. This was quite possibly one of the strangest positions that Jaskier had ever found himself in. He wasn't looking forward to explaining all of this to Geralt when he saw him again. 

They moved along at a steady clip until the serpent stopped, her body coiling as she tilted her head as if listening for something they couldn't hear. Corbyn and the Vodyanoy stopped swimming as the fish men gurgled in dismay. She was heading back toward shore. Virgil whirled, holding his trident tightly as if he intended to use it. Corbyn turned in the water, putting himself between Jaskier and the angry Vodyanoy. 

“It was a long shot,” Corbyn said. “Do not take out your incompetence on him.” 

Jaskier wasn't really listening to them. He closed his eyes as he tried to figure out what he was sensing. He could feel the prick of magic coming from the direction of the harbor, somewhere on the water. Probably from a ship with the way it rippled along the waves. 

“Something is calling her,” he said. 

“It was your music that drew her here!” Virgil shouted. 

Jaskier's eyes snapped open and he turned to glare at him. “No it didn't. I was just trying to figure out how not to get seasick.” He held out his arms, letting the lute hang loose against his chest as Corbyn held him up with the occasional flick of his tail. “Does it look like I'm playing? Whatever actually brought her here is calling to her right now, and it's not me.”

“How long have you been in town?” Corbyn asked him.

“We arrived the day before I fell in the water.”

“Then it really wasn't you. She'd been circling the harbor for three days that that point.”

Jaskier waved his arms around. “ _Well_? Are we just going to sit here arguing, or are we going to follow her so we can figure out what the hell is going on? The sooner we deal with this the sooner I can get back on land. I'm freezing.”

Virgil growled, obviously angry. But he just took off like a shot after the serpent. When the rest of the Vodyanoy brandished their weapons, Corbyn followed him with Jaskier in tow.


	14. Fire on the Waves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good morning! This is a ridiculously early post because I'm starting to get up earlier to prepare for returning to work next week. I'm tired and a little bored as I try not to crawl back into bed. But I refuse to do any housework until the sun rises. One of the worst things about living in the southeast US is that the sun doesn't rise until almost seven every morning all year round. After growing up in the far northeast near Canada, this was a huge change. On the upside, less Seasonal Effective Disorder because it's not as dark for as long in the winter. But man, I hate getting up in the dark every day. The novelty of seeing the sunrise so often wore off long ago.

The water was slightly warmer near the harbor, but just barely. Jaskier started shivering and wondered how long it was safe for him to stay submerged. There must have been something in the potion they fed him, because he probably would have passed out from hypothermia long before now otherwise. Ahead of them, the serpent was swimming erratically, like she was agitated by something. There was some angry grumbling among the Vodyanoy as they tried to figure out what was happening. 

The hum of magic got stronger the closer they got to the ships that floated on the water. One of the larger ones was out by itself while the others were huddled closer to the docks. The surface of the water was rippling and choppy and the rumble of thunder made the water practically vibrate. It must be raining now that the storm moved had in. 

Jaskier had a moment to contemplate how much of a bad idea it was to come charging into the harbor with a throng of armed Vodyanoy and an irritated sea serpent before arrows started raining down into the water. 

“Shit! They've seen her,” he shouted as Corbyn maneuvered them so that they were dodging most of the projectiles. They didn't have to try too hard as they lost most of their velocity once they hit the surface. The giant bolts were another matter. “Is that a fucking ballista?”

“it would appear so.” Corbyn seethed. “They're going to kill her.”

The serpent rose up out of the water to snap a the ship and the sailors attacking her. Jaskier felt a prickle of familiar magic and his eyes went wide.

“We have to get closer!”

“They will see us.”

“That's the point.” Jaskier twisted out of his grip and tried to swim closer on his own, but floundered around the lute.

“Jaskier, it is not safe.” Corbyn reached out to grab him again.

“Geralt's up there. He doesn't know what's going on. He'll kill her before the ballista does.” Was this was Yennefer had wanted? Jaskier saw a bright flash of fire above the water as it rolled over the surface, and it illuminated the furious Vodyanoy who were trying to herd the enraged serpent. Amorelius roared again and coiled underwater, her scales reflecting the flames flickering over the waves. The arrows had stopped and Jaskier saw a single figure dive down into the water with a sword in hand. 

“Come on!”

Corbyn hissed an irritated breath. “This is unwise.” But he towed Jaskier closer to the ship. They could see Geralt darting around in the distance, trying to get closer to the serpent while avoiding her teeth. “Hmnph. His form is all wrong,” Corbyn muttered.

“He doesn't usually hunt underwater.” 

“It shows.”

“Geralt!” Jaskier called out and waved to him. Geralt whirled and went still for a moment as he realized what he was seeing. His eyes narrowed and he made a sign with his fingers to propel him in their direction. 

“Wait! It's not-”

The Vodyanoy were now swirling around them and Corbyn pulled Jaskier back. But he didn't have a weapon. None of the Vodyanoy bothered to speak before attacking Geralt. In their haste to attack, they caught Corbyn across the shoulder with the tip of a blade. He'd been too busy looking out for Jaskier to avoid it and a swirl of blood spread in the water before Jaskier's eyes. Then Jaskier was being knocked back by the force of a Witcher's sign. The magic of it washed over his body as Corbyn lost his grip and Jaskier lost track of which way was up. 

A strong arm curled around his waist and he was dragged abruptly upward. He broke the surface into the chaos of the storm, and then he was being hauled upward further. Jaskier landed on the deck of the ship in a wet heap as he coughed up copious amounts of seawater. He lay there shivering, curled around the lute as his lungs struggled to figure out how to take in air again. He was vaguely aware of Geralt shouting at him and people moving on the deck around him.

“Is he always this accident prone?” Yennefer asked, her tone cold and bored.

“F-fuck off, bitch,” Jaskier stuttered as he blinked the seawater out of his eyes and glared up at her. She eyed him with contempt and stalked away. Her black gown hung wetly off of her, but she seemed heedless of the rain. 

“What were you doing in the water!?” Geralt yelled as knelt and curled his fingers in the fabric of Jaskier's doublet to shake him. The Witcher was dripping and furious. 

“It wasn't my idea or my f-fault,” Jaskier yelled back as he yanked Geralt's hand off him.

Jaskier struggled to sit up and massaged his freezing fingers. A crack of thunder ripped open the sky as the storm continued to rage. He was suddenly aware that he was on the swaying deck of a large ship and his stomach roiled. Jaskier scrabbled to his feet and barely made it to the rail in time to swing the lute out of the way so he could vomit over the side. His stomach heaved up everything he'd eaten earlier and more, his entire body convulsing until there was nothing left. He'd probably yakked up what was left of the potion as well. As much as he wanted to throw himself overboard to escape the nausea, he'd probably drown now.

“Yennefer!” Geralt called. “This isn't going to work. We need to go back and come up with another plan.”

The sorceress glared at them and came back over. “You promised that you would do this. Or is this just one more thing you can't be bothered to follow through with?” She sneered at Jaskier. “Or is it him? That's easily solved.” She threw out a hand and Jaskier felt a sudden wave of fatigue hit him. Pushing at it, he braced his hand on the rail and reached back to curl his fingers around the neck of the lute so he could feel the strings against the pads of his fingers. He glared back at her and grit his teeth as the weight of the sleep spell slid off him. She blinked at him, before her lip curled. “So you _are_ a mage.”

Jaskier said nothing as he glared back at her. He wasn't going to tell her anything.

“Yen,” Geralt said as he reached out a hand toward her. 

“No. If he wants to play with fire, then let him.”

Jaskier swallowed as he recalled the gout of flames that had curled out over the waves. He brought the lute around to let it rest in his hands, though he wasn't entirely sure what he thought he was going to do with it. He plucked a string experimentally and he could barely hear it over the storm. Singing might also be a problem as he still felt the burn of acid in his throat. He licked his lips and swallowed a few drops of rainwater and tasted sea salt from where he'd been underwater. His stomach twisted uncomfortably and he had to sidestep to keep his feet on the swaying ship. 

But he put his fingers to the strings and played anyway as he struggled to maintain his stance. When he stumbled toward the railing, Geralt swore and went over to grab him. He wrapped his arm around Jaskier's waist again while he hooked the other around the rail. 

“What are you doing!?” Geralt yelled in his ear as another roll of thunder drowned everything else out.

“Trying to undo whatever she did!” Jaskier shouted over the storm as he continued to play. He had no idea what he was doing. Magic was on the wind and he wondered if she'd summoned the weather as well. He couldn't let the magic draw power from him. That lesson had been learned the hard way when he'd tried to heal the injured Elf. There was a thread a compulsion in the magic and he felt the last wisps of Yennefer's sleeping spell clinging to him along with something old and powerful tying Yennefer and Geralt together that was beyond his comprehension. It was complicated and intertwined in a way that made him dizzy. He focused on one of Yennefer's spells instead. It seemed to be some sort of summoning. Jaskier felt himself trying to move toward her but steadied as he continued to play carefully. Geralt hugged him closer.

“Jaskier!”

The ship tipped as a huge wave rocked the hull and Jaskier's fingers faltered on the lute. He blinked rainwater out of his eyes and saw Yennefer clutching the railing a few feet away from them with an odd look on her face. It wasn't fear, exactly, but it certainly wasn't happy, like he was some sort of experiment that had surprised her in a bad way. Closing his eyes and ignoring both her and the persistent nausea that threatened to make him heave again, Jaskier continued playing. He could feel the frisson of the storm on the air, the potential of something just beyond his awareness, like a sound he could just barely hear. 

There was a blinding flash and another crack of thunder that accompanied a huge wave that rocked the ship and nearly threw them off their feet. Jaskier pushed at whatever was pulling the serpent towards the boat. Underneath it, he felt something else unnatural. A shape that had been twisted and changed in a way that wasn't meant to be. The hairs on the back of his neck rose as he felt a tingling surge in the clouds. He drew on the prickling static in the air, and suddenly it was the easiest thing in the world to flick all of the lingering foreign magic away with the pluck of the strings. Jaskier felt energized and victorious in a way he never had before. It made him giddy and a little lightheaded as he tilted his head up and laughed into the torrential rain that pelted his face. It was a joyous, slightly manic sound.

There was a deafening roar that shook the boards beneath his feet.

Jaskier opened his eyes to see that the serpent had reared up out of the water to tower above them. She came crashing down across the deck, making everyone scramble to to get away as the masts gave way and the sails tore. The deep groaning sound of wood under stress grew to an ear shattering crack that Jaskier felt in his bones. There was a sudden whipping of winds and Yennefer disappeared into a portal that winked out the moment she was through. The deck tipped under Jaskier's feet as the ship split down the middle. Geralt's grip on him was the only thing keeping him from tumbling down into the water that started swamping the ship from the cracked middle where it was now a splintered ruin. 

Jaskier was manhandled over the railing and then he was underwater again. Whatever he'd gained from the potion was gone now and he choked on a sputtering mouthful of seawater. When he was dragged to the surface, waves lapped at his face as Geralt tried to get them back to shore. They'd been pretty far out in the harbor, and he couldn't see where the land was. He thought he heard Geralt swear and sputter and then they were both going under again. Something caught them and they started to move through the water much more quickly. It was dizzying and quick and Jaskier's eyes fluttered closed to keep him from being sick underwater.

The next thing Jaskier was aware of, he was coughing up a lungful of water on the sand. Geralt was curled protectively over him as a shadow loomed overhead. Jaskier peered out from around Geralt's shoulder to see Amorelius looking down at them. Had she brought them to the shore? Above them, the storm seemed to be abating and all that remained was a thin, gray layer of clouds in the sky and a soft patter of drizzle. 

“Thank you,” Jaskier wheezed and coughed again. He watched the serpent retreat back into the water, her sinuous body slithering in the shallows until she could swim out deeper. Geralt looked from the serpent to Jaskier and back again. Jaskier reached up and patted his cheek.

“See? I didn't get eaten.”

Geralt gave him a severe look before getting to his feet. He pulled his sword from the sheath on his back and took a stance on the beach. Three of the Vodyanoy were emerging from the water. One of them was Virgil, and the other two were dragging someone between them. An extremely naked someone. Once they reached the edge of the waves, they dropped him to the sand where he landed in a limp heap.

“Corbyn!” Jaskier scrambled out from behind Geralt and shoved his lute behind him as he knelt at Corbyn's side. He rolled him over and put his ear to his chest and was rewarded with the slow, steady thump of a Witcher's heartbeat. He was alive. Jaskier's gaze skittered down his torso. And he had legs. When the hell had that happened?

“He's your problem now,” Virgil barked as he tossed down Corbyn's sword beside the unconscious Witcher. His fishy lips twisted in something that looked like a grimace. “Thank you, Bard.” It almost sounded liked the words pained him. “Amorelius is already headed back out to sea.” 

The other two Vodyanoy nodded at Jaskier with a little more respect before all three of them headed back into the waves. Out on the water, the remains of the ship were slowly sinking below the surface. Smaller boats were already on the way to rescue what was left of the crew. 

Jaskier turned his attention back to Corbyn who started coughing as seawater burbled up out of his mouth. Jaskier quickly turned him onto his side so he could clear his lungs. Pulling the lute strap over his head, he gently set it aside. He'd take a closer look at it later.

“It's alright. I've got you,” he said, his own voice a little hoarse.

“Who is he?” Geralt sounded more puzzled than angry, and given what had just happened that was surprising. 

“He's a Witcher.” Jaskier nodded at the sword and Geralt knelt down to get a closer look without touching. “He's uh. . .actually, he's the Merman from the other day.” Jaskier swallowed and felt a mild burn in his throat from when he'd been sick. Humming softly, he turned his attention back to Corbyn who was starting to rouse.

“What the fuck,” Corbyn muttered as he struggled to a sitting position. He looked out at the water and then down at his own legs. He sucked in a startled breath and promptly started coughing again. Jaskier laid a hand on his shoulder, and smoothed his thumb along the line of the scar there. It was the same place he'd been struck by one of the Vodyanoy, but it was healed now. He could feel a tingle that reminded him of how own healing magic. How the hell had he managed it?

“Hang in there. I have no idea how long you were underwater. It, ah. . . .might take a bit for you get used to air again,” Jaskier said as he struggled to remember exactly what had happened.

“What have you done!?” Yennefer's voice was furious.

Jaskier stood and turned to see her striding down the beach towards them. Her gown was a wet, bedraggled mess with streaks of sand stuck to the hem, and her wet hair was plastered to her face and neck. Her hands were held out to her sides, her fingers curled like claws. She swiped at the air and Jaskier was thrown several feet to land hard on the wet dunes. The wind was knocked out of him and when he rolled over onto his back, he was suddenly pressed down like something was stepping on him. He felt his ribs creaking under the pressure and he sang under his breath to try and break her hold. 

“Yennefer, stop!” Geralt stepped around Corbyn to move toward her.

“He ruined _everything_!” she spat and whirled on Geralt. “We almost had it!”

Jaskier gasped as he shattered her spell while she was distracted. “What the hell were you trying to do exactly?” he asked her. “I'm pretty sure Amorelius didn't do anything to you.”

Yennefer's brow furrowed, her fury faltering momentarily in confusion. “Who?”

“The serpent,” Jaskier said as he sat up warily, trying to stay alert in case she attacked him again. “You summoned her. Why?”

“It's none of your concern!” she snapped and turned to look back out over the water. Yennefer seethed as she visibly tried to control herself. “I'll just have to try again.” She turned and glared at Geralt. “By _myself_ , as usual.”

“It's over Yennefer,” Geralt said as he sheathed his sword. “I did what you asked, and now I'm done.”

The Sorceress stared at him with naked fury on her face, trembling in her anger. And then she held out a hand and opened another portal. She stalked through it stiffly, displeasure evident in every taught inch of her. When the portal snapped closed, it sounded like a gunshot.

“Charming woman,” Corbyn said, his tone dry.

“How do you feel?” Jaskier asked him as he got up and came over to sit beside him. 

“Naked.” Blowing out a breath, he looked up at Geralt. “Corbyn of Cintra. I don't believe we've met.” He moved to stand, but settled back onto the sand when his legs wouldn't hold him. “Bother, he muttered.

“Geralt of Rivia.” Geralt knelt down and offered him his hand. This was going well, all things considered, Jaskier thought. The two Witchers shook, but they didn't let go right away. They were staring at each other, their gazes locked. Jaskier saw the muscles in their forearms tensing.

“Are you _serious_?” Jaskier let out an aggravated sigh and got up to retrieve his lute as they tested each other's grips like insecure dicks trying to prove their dominance. He gave the instrument a once over and was amazed to see nothing out of place. His grandfather had done good work. Shouldering the instrument, he picked up Corbyn's sword. It was lighter than Geralt's but still heavy. He held it up in an exaggerated, appraising manner and heard Geralt grumble.

“Give me that before you cut your hand off.”

Jaskier smirked and handed it over easily. “Are you done trying to figure out who's is bigger? It would go quicker if you took your pants off.”

Geralt's long suffering sigh of annoyance soothed Jaskier's nerves. It was okay. He had no idea what they were going to do now, but for now they were okay.


	15. Past Mistakes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Laste time, I posted early. This time I nearly forget because I got detracted. (I've been cooking lately and I've discovered that I'm really out of practice.) But I'm sticking to the schedule I've set, so no worries there.

Freixenet was quite possibly one of the most caring and accepting nobles Jaskier had ever met, and it was obvious that he took his responsibilities seriously. He'd come down to the harbor when he heard that Yennefer had commandeered a ship and had seen everything that happened, albeit from a distance. He'd directed the men in the harbor and coordinated the rescue efforts from shore with Zeke and the Aldan, the Harbormaster. 

As the sailors were brought back to the docks, one of the search parties that had been sent along the shore to check for survivors came across Jaskier, Geralt, and Corbyn. With Geralt's help, the former Merman was able to stumble his way across the sand. They'd made it back to where Jaskier had gone into the water and had stopped to take a break and pack up Jaskier's things. He gave his cloak to Corbyn who wrapped it around himself, not so much for modesty, but for the cold as he'd started to shiver. Even Witchers felt the chill apparently. Geralt eyed the pan as Jaskier scrubbed it with sand and rinsed it in the waves lapping at the rocks. 

“You had a cookout on the beach?” Geralt asked him with a raised brow.

“Why not? You weren't around and I was bored.”

“Hn. Anything else exciting happen while I was gone?”

“Aside from being kidnapped by Vodyanoy and singing to a giant sea serpent?” Jaskier shrugged casually. “Not really. It's been pretty dull. I don't know why you keep making a fuss about leaving me on my own.”

Geralt's low growl made him grin.

“Ooo. Scary.”

Corbyn was watching them with a bemused expression on his face, like he couldn't quite figure them out. Jaskier put his hand on his hip as he turned to him and tried to ignore the chill damp of his clothing that made him want to shiver. 

“What?”

“Most people don't speak to Witchers as you do.”

“So I've been told,” Jaskier said with a roll of his eyes. 

He was interrupted by the search party that came upon them and they were escorted the rest of the way back into the harbor. When they gave a brief explanation for their new companion, Freixenet ordered Corbyn be brought up to the manor so the local healer could look at him. 

A short while later, they were in one of the guest rooms and Corbyn was sitting in a chair by the window with his head tilted back and resting against the wall. His eyes were closed and his breathing was even as he flexed his toes against the rug beneath his feet. Geralt stood on the other side of the room with his arms crossed and Jaskier was trying to stay upright next to him. He was tired, but didn't really want to leave Corbyn on his own just yet. 

“Well,” Freixenet said as he stepped inside the room. “It's been an interesting day. That's the second time you've been fished out of the water, Jaskier. That's not what I expected when you said you wanted to find your sea legs.” His tone was light and teasing and if Jaskier felt better, he might have chuckled. As it was, he was exhausted and was having trouble keeping his eyes open. He'd been energized to the point of feeling a bit manic down by the water, but it felt like fatigue had suddenly hit him like a sack of bricks. 

“Me neither,” he mumbled. 

“Are you alright?” Corbyn asked. His eyes were open now and looking at Jaskier with concern. “Perhaps you are the one who in need of a healer.”

“Nah. Just . .sleep.” Jaskier's knees went soft and he suddenly found himself leaning heavily against Geralt. “Fuck,” Jaskier muttered as his muscles began to quiver and twitch uncontrollably. 

Geralt picked him up and carried him toward the door. Jaskier's head fell back and he started gasping for breath as was taken out into the hall and into the room he shared with Geralt. He was laid gently on the bed as he shivered, and a cottony fog descended over his thoughts. Geralt carefully stripped him out of his damp clothes and wrapped him in warm, dry blankets. It eased the shaking a bit, but Jaskier still didn't feel like he had control of his body. 

“Is he alright?” the baron asked from the door.

“He should be fine, Geralt said as he pressed the back of his hand gently against Jaskier's forehead.

“Wha. . .what's happening,” Jaskier mumbled. He swallowed around the stinging, dry lump in his throat.

“Magic burn.” Geralt's rumble was low and worried. “There's no treatment aside from rest. You'll have to endure until your body works through it.”

Freixenet hovered in the doorway. “Is there anything I can do?”

“Allow us to stay until he's healed, and then we'll be on our way.” 

“As long as you need,” the baron said before he retreated into the hallway and closed the door softly.

“It's never b-been like th-thisss bef-fore.” Jaskier was freezing and his throat hurt.

Geralt sighed heavily. “You've never channeled a storm before.” He trailed off in another sigh as he started taking off his gear. “Fuck.” He pulled off one of his pauldrons and tossed it onto the floor. After glaring at it for a moment, he finished undressing.

“I s-swear I'm n-not doing it-t on purp-pose,” Jaskier said as his teeth started chattering harder. Geralt started a fire in the hearth before pouring a glass of water from the pitcher on the dresser. He made Jaskier drink all of it before climbing into bed with him. The cool liquid soothed his raw throat, but Jaskier wondered why it hadn't healed already. Geralt pulled him in closer and held him.

“If I thought you were doing any of this on purpose, I would have murdered you long before now.” 

This time, Jaskier did chuckle. “That kinda makes me f-feel better.” He sighed as the shaking finally started to subside. There was a tingling rawness in his nerves, but the unease that had plagued him since Geralt had left with Yennefer was fading now. 

“We're going to talk about her when I wake up,” Jaskier said sleepily. Geralt probably grunted noncommittally in reply, but Jaskier was already falling asleep.

*******

Jaskier wandered the halls of a large castle that was vaguely familiar for some reason. He hadn't had a dream like this for weeks. He could hear a child crying, the sound soft and choked like they were trying to hide it. Following the sound through the empty hallways, he came to a suite of rooms with a bedroom containing a huge canopied bed. Sitting crouched in the center, was the little girl with pale, ashen hair. It fell in limp strands down over her shoulders where she sat with her knees drawn up to her chest. She sounded heartbroken. 

Jaskier started singing and her head snapped up in alarm. But when she saw him, she relaxed a little and the tears started flowing again. What she'd tried to hold in before he entered the room, came out in a flood of heavy sobs. Jaskier went over and sat on the bed. The little girl immediately crawled into his lap and curled up against him as she pressed into his chest. She seemed younger this time, maybe three or four years old. She'd been older the last time he'd dreamed of her on the boat and before that in the forest. 

He wrapped his arms around her and let her cry. It was hard to hear, but it had been far worse when she'd been trying to hide it. He settled and trailed off into a soothing hum as he rubbed a hand softly over her back. Jaskier had no idea who she was, but he felt an incredible sense of protectiveness as he laid his cheek on her hair.

“Don't worry. I won't let anything happen to you.” He exhaled sharply as magic tightened around his chest and pulled at his gut. Like when he'd made the promise in Brokilon, he'd somehow just given his word and now it was sealed. The little girl whimpered and clutched at his doublet.  
“Don't make promises you can't keep,” she sobbed.

Jaskier awoke with a gasp to feel his heart thumping hard in his chest, like he'd just snapped out of a nightmare. Geralt was sitting on the edge of the bed looking at him with a frown.

“What's wrong?”

Jaskier took a shaky breath. “Nothing,” he said even though he didn't quiet believe it. 

He'd never told Geralt about the dreams. They seemed oddly personal and something made him want to keep the information to himself. He looked up at the window to see morning light streaming in. He'd slept all afternoon and all night, as he usually did after using a great deal of magic. And he was starving. Sitting up gingerly, he took stock of his body. Geralt sat up with him, holding out his arm to steady him as he wavered. A headache started to throb behind his eyes and he closed them to block out the light. He felt Geralt's thumb smooth gently over his brow. 

“Headache?”

“Hn.” Jaskier wanted to go back to bed and sleep until it was gone, but he wanted to see Corbyn. He also hadn't forgotten about talking to Geralt about Yennefer. He wanted to address that before too much time had passed and Geralt used that as an excuse not to discuss it. The tub in the corner was full of steaming, fragrant water and Jaskier leaned against Geralt's shoulder, knowing he'd probably had it filled when he felt Jaskier waking. “I really do love you, you know.”

“You'd do a far better job of showing it if you didn't flirt with death quiet so often.”

“Hmmm.” Jaskier's brain latched onto the wording and started playing with it, despite the headache. He felt a song forming about a young man who falls in love with death and tries to see them by heading willfully into danger. Jaskier sighed knowing that it could only end sadly. It would probably be popular. Like Paulina had said before, people liked to hear about sadness to know what happiness felt like. And the romance of it would be bittersweet, making it a maudlin crowd-pleaser. He'd have to take some notes before he got distracted by something else. 

Geralt helped him out of bed and drew him over to the bath. Jaskier felt much better than he had yesterday. His throat was still raw and he still felt a little sore and stretched on the inside, like he'd pulled every muscle in his body, but he wasn't the twitchy mess he'd been before. But even so, bathing seemed to be a bit beyond him and he let Geralt slip into the water with him so he could wash the salt from his skin and lather soap into his hair. If he'd felt less lethargic, he might have taken advantage of the situation. But he just relaxed in the water and let himself be cared for instead.

“How did you meet Yennefer?” 

“Why?” Geralt's voice was tighter than usual and tension slid along his frame.

“You do things for each other, seemingly without question, and you're not someone who trusts easily. You've said how you don't like hunting in the ocean, but you went out on a ship with her and tried to kill a giant serpent.” Jaskier tilted his head up to see Geralt's unhappy expression. “Was she paying you to kill it?”

“No,” he said.

“Then why?” Jaskier wasn't quite sure why he was pushing so hard. But he wanted to know. She was obviously important to Geralt, even though she'd never showed him a shred of kindness that Jaskier had seen.

Geralt sighed softly. “I owe her.”

“For what?”

“Jaskier-”

“No. I want to know. She took me from Yspaden and only gave me back because you asked. Then she helped you rescue me from Lettenhove, and I have no idea why. And yesterday, she tried to put me to sleep on a ship in the middle of a storm and threw me across the beach when she thought I'd ruined everything.” Jaskier sat up and pulled back to look at him. “I don't get it. Why would she do anything for you and why would you do things for her? All I've seen her do is hate.” 

Geralt hissed out a breath, obviously irritated and it was clear he didn't want to answer. But Jaskier just waited quietly. This was important. 

“She helped me find you because that was the deal we made,” he said finally. “I called her on the Xenovox back in Malcolm's bar, and she used her magic to track you down. After she dropped us off in Kaer Morhen, I promised I would help her when she asked. Then she showed up downstairs to call in the favor.”

Jaskier sighed. That was quite a bit of info, and it explained some things he hadn't known before. But he still didn't know what tied them together. “There's more to it than that.” He stared at Geralt, leaving his expression open and waited for him to answer. To Jaskier's surprise, he continued.

“I made a mistake a long time ago. I thought I was doing the right thing. She was trying to do something that would get her killed. And I. . .I didn't want her to die.” Geralt closed his eyes before taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly to calm himself. When he looked at Jaskier again, he was calmer, but there were painful memories in his eyes. “She blames me for it.”

“That's fairly obvious.” Jaskier's lips thinned. He remembered what Geralt said when they were leaving Brokilon Forest. Jaskier had started to panic because he thought his magic had destroyed Lettenhove and Geralt had tried to tell him not to blame himself. That internalized guilt was destructive. Jaskier hadn't known what he was talking about at the time, and he'd never imagined that it involved Yennefer. But the comment made more sense now. “You blame yourself more.”

Geralt looked away but didn't deny it. “She's. . .been through a lot.”

“I figured,” Jaskier said softly. “Nobody hates themselves themselves that much for fun.”

Geralt gave him a confused looked as he turned back to him, and Jaskier huffed a bitter laugh.

“I don't think I've ever seen that much self loathing before. There's a really miserable person hiding under the facade of the scary, fire flinging Ice Queen.” His tone softened. “I'm not sure who hurt her, but I hope they're long gone.” At Geralt's wounded look, Jaskier leaned in to kiss him. “I know it wasn't you, dumbass. She's mad at you, not afraid.” He still didn't know exactly what had happened, but Geralt's relationship with Yennefer made a little more sense to him now. Mostly. “Did you two ever. . .sorry. That's a stupid question. It doesn't matter who you've been with. You're like, a hundred years old, or more. Of course you've been with other people.” The words spilled out of him as he tried to backpedal. 

Geralt's arms came around Jaskier and pulled him into his lap. Jaskier sighed at the contact even though he still felt too sore to appreciate it. Geralt kissed his lips and trailed kisses down along his jaw towards his neck. “There hasn't been anyone but you since the day we met,” he murmured against Jaskier's skin, seemingly relieved to change topics. Jaskier shivered as his words vibrated against his throat. 

“Geralt. I. . .” Jaskier wasn't sure what to tell him. He'd hardly been a virgin when he slept with Geralt the first time. The Witcher wasn't even the first person he'd laid with in the Wood. Balen had been a momentary diversion, but Jaskier had loved him for a short time. “You aren't the only one I've. . .been with.”

Geralt pulled back with a small smirk on his face. “Your mouth is far too talented not to have had practice.” 

Jaskier felt a hot flush creep up his neck. Why did comments like that from Geralt always do this to him? He didn't have a lot of inhibitions, and he certainly wasn't shy. But a few sly words from his Witcher had him blushing like it was his first time. Sighing, he leaned into the other man and laid his head on he shoulder. 

“As much as I would love to demonstrate for you, I'm not quite feeling up to it.” He was tired again and his throat was still really sore. He tried to hum to relieve the pain and started coughing. “Fuck,” he hissed. “My throat is so sore.”

“You're going to have to skip singing for a while and give your voice a rest. You were screaming on the ship yesterday.”

Jaskier didn't remember that, but he tended to miss things when he was using his magic. “Why can't I heal it?”

“Jaskier. You channeled a storm and directed the lightning's energy with your voice.” Geralt sat back and tilted Jaskier's head up to look at him. His fingers gently brushed his neck. “You're lucky all you have is a sore throat.”

“Oh. Is that not something that mages do?” 

“No. They're trained to draw from Sources and the environment. But trying to manipulate the elements directly is too dangerous and many literally burn out.” 

“I bet Yennefer can.” She seemed to have a hand in the weather when the storm was raging. 

Geralt's lips thinned and the shadows in his eyes swirled uncomfortably. “She's not like most sorceresses.” But he didn't elaborate more than that and Jaskier figured that was all he would get for now.


	16. Of Shopping Trips and Sickness

Geralt and Jaskier got out of the tub and dressed for the day before heading downstairs. They found Corbyn in the dining room surrounded by platters of food. He'd shaved and his long auburn hair was clean and dry where it flowed in loose waves over his shoulders. The simple gray tunic he wore was a bit tight across his shoulders, as it was most likely borrowed, but he seemed more at ease now that he was able to wear proper clothing. When Ephrema saw them, she offered them tea and plates so they could fill up from the buffet before excusing herself to give them some privacy and go work in the greenhouse. 

Corbyn was savoring each bite slowly, like he was afraid it would be the last solid meal he'd have on land again. So they sat eating in relatively comfortable silence for a bit before anyone said anything. Jaskier forced himself to slow down so he wouldn't make himself sick from eating too fast. It seemed that using magic made him extremely hungry. Geralt had reverted to his usual glowering self.

“Who rules Cintra now?” Corbyn asked as he finally sat back and sipped his tea. 

“Queen Calanthe,” Jaskier said with a small wince. 

Corbyn frowned. “I don't know her. Is she a good queen?”

Jaskier exchanged a look with Geralt before saying anything. Geralt was infuriatingly calm, like he didn't have an opinion one way or the other. It was like she hadn't threatened him for laying claim to her granddaughter and possibly sent assassins after him. But Jaskier wasn't going to talk about any of that. 

“She's. . .independent,” he said carefully.

“How delightfully vague,” Corbyn said over his mug. 

“She doesn't put up with anyone's shit and she leads her army into battle herself.” Jaskier was mildly puzzled by this. Most monarchs he'd read about commanded the field at a distance and only joined the fighting when victory was assured. From what he'd heard about Calanthe, she often waded into the fray with her troops. But he supposed it made sense. She seemed to go out of her way to prove herself to her male peers. It must be incredibly difficult to maintain her position when most thought she needed a man to guide her.

“How does her king feel about that?”

Jaskier shrugged. “She was a widow for years, but she just remarried a few weeks ago.” He didn't know what Eist thought, but given how he'd looked at her that night and how they'd moved around each other easily while fighting, he was probably more than fine with it. “The Jarl of Skellige appeared to appreciate how she held her own during her daughter's betrothal feast.” 

Corbyn chuckled. “Were the suitors literally fighting over the princess? I will never understand how such matches are made.”

“It's a long story,” Jaskier said. “Who was ruling when you were last on land?”

“King Correl had just married Eschiva of Sodden. That was right before I took the contract that brought me here. Hamm was just a small hamlet then. It's grown quite a bit.” He seemed a little disconcerted by that.

“How old were you?” 

Corbyn's brow furrowed. “Is that relevant?” 

“Not really, sorry. I'm just curious.” Jaskier was mildly annoyed that Geralt wouldn't tell him how old he was, but he supposed it didn't matter.

“King Correl ruled more than a hundred years ago,” Geralt said. 

“Correl's bones must have crumbled to dust by now. And I wasn't there.” Corbyn's voice was quiet and sad. 

“I thought Witchers didn't get involved,” Jaskier said. 

“If you have spent any time among our kind, you know how untrue that can be.” Corbyn looked at Geralt, but the other man didn't say anything.

Jaskier snorted. He already knew that. He just wanted to see what Corbyn thought about it. “I hear about neutrality a lot, but I don't really see it in action.” He felt Geralt kick his ankle gently under the table and Corbyn chuckled before trailing off in a sigh.

“Correl was. . .a friend.”

From the look on his face, Jaskier figured it was a bit more complicated than that.

“I am in your debt, Jaskier,” Corbyn said, his tone solemn and his gaze grave.

“I was just happy to help. You don't owe me anything. And besides, you saved my life underwater, and I couldn't have gotten to the ship without you. I'm not sure Virgil would have been as patient with me if you hadn't been there.”

“Be that as it may, I am grateful. Though I don't believe I've ever met a sorcerer who sings.”

Geralt sighed heavily. “He's a Bard,” he rumbled.

Corbyn's brows rose. “I thought they were just a myth. But I suppose I should have known there was something about your music from the way my amulet kept humming every time you played. It's a rare gift.”

“If you could keep it to yourself, that would be great,” Jaskier said with a wincing smile. “I'm trying not to advertise.” He returned Geralt's dry look with a glare of his own. “You can grumble about it all you want. I'm not going to stop singing. Or helping people when I can,” he added. “It doesn't feel right to have the abilities and not use them.” He ignored the soreness in his throat and took another sip of his tea.

Geralt sighed but didn't argue. They'd had this conversation before and it never got either of them anywhere. Filavandrel had advised Jaskier to be careful because there were those who would use his magic for their own gain, though he wasn't sure what they'd get out of it. So far, he was only good at healing himself. Breaking the curse had been mostly an accident. 

“A worthy sentiment. But caution would be best.” Corbyn sighed and looked out the window.

“Well. We need to get you some clothes,” Jaskier said brightly, trying to change the subject. “And whatever else you need.”

Corbyn looked at him with a pained expression. “I can't-”

“Oh, yes you can.” Jaskier cut him off. “We're going to the market today, if you're okay to walk around a bit. I saw a place when I got here. We'll get you sorted out.” 

“Jaskier-”

“He won't stop talking until you agree to go with him,” Geralt said, his tone tired, but amused. He was probably relieved that he wasn't the subject of Jaskier's fashion attention for once. He rarely wore anything except black or simple white shirts no matter how often Jaskier tried to broaden his color horizons. Geralt turned to Jaskier and gave him an appraising look. “But you should wait until you've recovered a bit before traipsing all over town on a shopping spree.”

“I'm fine. I slept all night and had a great breakfast. It's fine.” He tried not to swallow convulsively at the gritty feeling at the back of his throat. It was fine.  
Geralt was obviously annoyed, but not enough to physically stop him from leaving. He turned back to Corbyn. “Going with him is by far, the least troublesome option,” he said. 

“You see?” Jaskier said. “He's already learned not to fight me on this. It took a couple years of training, but I finally won in the end.” Jaskier just grinned at Geralt when he glowered at him. Leaning over, he kissed him on the cheek and felt the familiar and comforting scrub of stubble against his lips. “Come on. I'm just going to nag you until come with me.”

Geralt and Corbyn exchanged a wordless look before Corbyn stood and followed Jaskier out into the hall where he looped the makeshift sword belt over his head and settled it. The winged crossguard of the weapon peeked out over his left shoulder. When they were outside and moving down the street, Corbyn tilted his face up toward the sun.

“He's just going to let you go with me by yourself?” he asked.

Jaskier scoffed. “He's not my keeper, and he if thought you were dangerous. . .” At Corbyn's pointed look, Jaskier paused. Right. Scary Witcher. Even barefoot in the street with long flowing auburn hair trailing over his shoulders that made him look like some shipwrecked fairy tale prince, Corbyn was formidable as he moved with a predatory grace. Add to that, the exotic sword and cat eyes the color of amber, he made quite the picture. “If Geralt thought you were a danger to _me_ , he'd come with us. But it's fine, and he hates shopping.”

Corbyn considered that for a moment before continuing down the street. “How long have you two been together?”

“Three years.” There was no point in denying it. Jaskier never hid his affection for Geralt and public displays didn't really bother either of them. Within reason. Geralt tended to glower and not respond when he'd had enough, which would make Jaskier's affection more exaggerated until the other man finally growled at him.

“Hm.” 

“Is that a Witcher thing, the grunting?” Jaskier asked him. 

“Forgive me for being a little less than eloquent. I'm just. . .surprised. I am not used to being. . .supported like this. The baron has been very generous. And in my experience, Witchers rarely have steady partners.”

“Just remember that I'm weird and Freixenet is a friend of Geralt's. The rest of the world is still full of racist, bigoted assholes.” Jaskier glanced down at Corbyn's bare feet. He was padding silently along the cobblestone street easily with no sign that the roughness of the terrain bothered him. “Let's get you some boots first.”

“You really don't have to do this.”

“No, I don't. I want to because I can.” 

He'd never told Geralt, but after everything that happened in Lettenhove, Jaskier had secretly converted half of his trust fund money to crowns and moved it to Vivaldi's bank in the Wood. The rest remained in the Modern banking system in Ard Carraigh for the time being, but he'd probably move it all to the Wood at some point in the future. He just wasn't ready to do that yet. While Jaskier wasn't in a hurry to visit a Modern City anytime soon, he wasn't going to rule it out entirely. Technically, he didn't really have to work if he didn't want to, but he wasn't sure what he'd do with himself otherwise. And he enjoyed traveling. He still didn't tap into the funds very often because his career and Geralt's contracts had become fairly lucrative, but it came in handy occasionally. And it let him indulge in his love of fine tailoring. He liked variety, but he'd never have been able to afford so many finely made outfits on the proceeds from his performances alone. 

That being said, Jaskier probably wouldn't need to go to the bank today. Most of his ready cash was tucked away in numerous pockets sewn into the lining of his clothes, his boots, and his pack. Elihal made most of his clothing with secretive compartments scattered across the outfit, and he'd modified almost everything else. Corbyn seemed amused every time Jaskier produced coins from various places on his person. They found a serviceable pair of boots, a scabbard and bandoleer combo, along with a decent belt at the leather shop. None of them were a perfect fit, but it was something to get him started so he could go out on the Path again.

The pants and shirt were easy to find. Hamm was a busy port with a lot of sea traffic and there was a fair amount of imported clothing along with tailors that catered to ship crews who passed through. Hamm was the midpoint between Kovir in the north and Ebbing in the South. The channel between Skellige and Hamm was Modern territory, but fortunately, ships from the Wood could pass through safety. Bremervoord and Cidaris did a fair amount of business with imports from the Wood even though they couldn't export much except for raw materials. Materials and goods from the Wood were fine in Modern Cities. It was just magic that and enchanted items that didn't work.

But Corbyn drew the line at armor. “It's too much, and I don't need it right now,” he told Jaskier.

“Look, I realize you guys are really tough, but even Geralt comes back torn to hell sometimes, and that's _with_ armor.” He'd spent far too many nights tending to the other man's wounds and he knew more than he cared to about stitches. It made his lack of control over his healing abilities endlessly frustrating. “Are you seriously going to go hunting monsters without protection?”

“The point is to not get clawed or bitten in the first place,” Corbyn said, his tone dry.

“Says the man who looks like something tried to bite him in half.” Jaskier poked him in his left side where the huge teeth marks were hidden by his clothes. 

“My first days underwater were somewhat less than dignified.” Corbyn huffed and looked away. “It took a while to figure out how to swim without legs.”

Jaskier immediately regretted what he said. “Sorry.”

“Don't be.” Corbyn sighed softly. “It was a fitting punishment for my arrogance.”

Jaskier snorted. “How much of an asshole were you to deserve a century as a fish?”

Corbyn stopped walking and stared at him steadily. “You don't know me.”

Jaskier regarded him thoughtfully for a moment, letting the foot traffic in the street pass around them. “No. I don't. But I'm a fair judge of character. You didn't have to help me when I fell in the water. And no matter what kind of arrangement you had with the Vodyanoy, you didn't have to help Amorelius either. People show who they are with their actions more than their words, and yours have told me quite a bit about you.” Jaskier's voice was getting a little rough as he finished speaking, and he had to swallow against the dryness that prickled at the back of his mouth.

“You trust too easily,” Corbyn said finally as he shook his head and kept walking.

“You're not the first to say so, but trust me when I tell you I've learned to be pretty paranoid. If I thought you weren't genuine, we wouldn't be out here today.” He nodded at another side street. “I want to make a couple more stops.”

“No. We're going to head back before you become so weary that I have to carry you.”

“What? I'm fine.” Jaskier's words were betrayed by the croak of his voice. He was getting extremely tired even though he was loathe to say so. They'd only been out for a couple of hours. 

“Your heart rate has started to increase and your breathing is a bit labored.”

Jaskier curled his lip. Stupid Witcher hearing. He couldn't hide anything from Geralt either. 

“And your voice sounds like you've been chewing glass,” Corbyn observed as he laid a hand gently on Jaskier's back to guide him back to the manor. Jaskier didn't protest, and by the time they reached the gate, he was slumped against Corbyn's side. He'd broken out in a sweat and he was shivering. Geralt was coming down the road from the direction of the gate, probably on his way back from checking on Roach. When he saw Jaskier, his lips thinned and he came over to gather him up in his arms. 

“You should have gone back to bed.”

“I'm fine,” Jaskier mumbled as he rested his head on Geralt's shoulder. “Just need a nap.” He asleep before they got inside.

*******

Jaskier woke feeling groggy and his throat felt like it had been rubbed with sandpaper. “Wha-” He broke off in a fit of coughing. Geralt handed him a glass of water. 

“I'll have Ephrema make you some tea,” Geralt said quietly.

“Hn.” It was Jaskier's turn to grunt in response as he wasn't sure he could speak right now. He drank half the glass before trying to hum. But that led to another racking cough and Geralt had to take the glass from him before he spilled it. When he calmed again, he felt Geralt's hand on his forehead. He was hot and he flipped the blankets off him as he flopped back onto the bed. Jaskier whined pathetically. He felt awful. “Burnout?” he whispered.

Geralt shook his head. “I believe that's already passed. I think you're just sick now.” 

Jaskier frowned. Did Elves get sick? Maybe his magic couldn't do anything about it. He hadn't been able to sing his seasickness away either. 

Geralt answered his silent musing as he brushed Jaskier's sweat slicked hair away from his forehead. “You spent a fair amount of time underwater in the cold yesterday, and then you were channeling lighting. Your body can only deal with so much stress.”

Jaskier shivered as he suddenly felt cold. It was so unfair. He pulled the blankets back up and wrapped himself in them. Geralt left the room and came back with a steaming mug. Jaskier surfaced from his bedding cocoon long enough to drink the honeyed mixture before snuggling back into the warmth with a grumble. There must have been something more than honey in the tea because the soft fuzz of sleepiness fell over him and he quickly fell asleep again. 

*******

Jaskier was laying on the floor and he shivered in the cold. Why wasn't he in bed anymore? His fogged mind couldn't quite figure out what was happening. He heard the tap of small feet on the flagstones and a small intake of breath before the person ran away again. But they quickly returned and Jaskier felt something soft and warm being laid over him. A small hand started petting his hair.

“It's okay. This time, I'll take care of _you_.”

Jaskier groaned in response. It was doubly unfair to feel sick in a dream. The ashen a haired girl sat at his side, wearing a tunic and thick woolen trousers. He didn't recognize the room they were in. Curling up against him, she started humming and he vaguely recognized it as the song he'd first sang to her as he was chasing her through the woods. Had he sang the whole song to her? She seemed older now than the last time saw her when he made the promise to her, but younger than when he'd chased her through the forest when he first dreamed of her. Her age seemed to shift back and forth. But this was a dream, after all. Anything could happen. It just sucked that he felt sick here too. He fell asleep again listening to her small voice make a heartfelt attempt to make him feel better.

*******

When Jaskier woke again to see Geralt reading in a chair beside the bed, he felt better but still a bit foggy. He spent the next couple of days sleeping and drinking fluids. He didn't dream of the little girl again. Corbyn sat with him occasionally and Ephrema made him tea. His voice was still a wreck, but the coughing had subsided. When he was well enough to bathe and eat a light meal, the bedding was changed, and Geralt curled up behind him when he got back under the covers. Jaskier pressed back into him and sighed. He always felt so warm and safe with the other man's arms around him. 

“So. Where should we go after this?” Jaskier asked. “I think I've had enough of the ocean for the time being.” 

“Novigrad.”

“Really? What brought this on?” Jaskier was surprised. Geralt didn't often suggest large cities unless there was something specific to bring him there. He wasn't fond of large crowds.

“I need to see someone about my sword. After the Katakan and the serpent, it needs to be repaired.”

“There's nobody here that could see to it?”

“Hmm, no.” Geralt's rumble resonated against the back of Jaskier's neck where he nuzzled him from behind. “It's not an ordinary sword. It needs a certain skill level to maintain it.”

“Oh.”

“And besides. It's been nearly a year since you've seen Elihal and you want to hear one of Essi's lectures. We'll go over to Oxenfurt after, and when the season passes, we'll head for Kaer Morhen.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just realized who I'd based Corbyn's look off of as I was editing this chapter to post. When he's walking around with Jaskier, he looks like Disney's animated Beast in human form after Belle breaks the curse. It wasn't intentional, but that's how I've always seen him, right down to the bare feet and billowy shirt.


	17. Small Stature, Big Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whelp, it's back to work for me after weeks of being at home, so fitting in writing time just got a little more challenging. But this story is complete along with a short story that takes place afterwards. And I'm nearly halfway through the next long one. I've got a good buffer going to give me time to finish it so hopefully, there won't be a huge gap in between. 
> 
> Stick around. There's a lot more to come.

A few days later, Jaskier stood just outside the gates of Hamm with his pack and his lute, ready to hit the road. Geralt was checking the straps of Roach's saddle and settling the saddle bags. Corbyn was looking a little lost. Freixenet and Ephrema had seen them off that morning with a gift of provisions and an open invitation to come back should they ever return to the area. 

“You sure you're going to be okay?” Jaskier asked Corbyn.

Corbyn's gaze cleared as he looked at Jaskier with a fond smile. “I'm fairly certain I'll be fine.”

Jaskier chuckled. “Right, right. Um. . .” He wasn't quite sure what to say. “I hope our paths cross again.” When Corbyn held out his hand, Jaskier huffed and moved in for a hug. He wrapped his arms around the startled Witcher and smiled when the embrace was tentatively returned. When he pulled back, he grinned up at him. Corbyn was a few inches taller than Geralt. “I fully expect to hear some stories when I see you again. Witchering on the ocean would make for a great song.” He laughed when Corbyn frowned.

“It's not as bad as it sounds,” Geralt said from where he waited at Roach's side.

“A- _ha_!” Jaskier whirled and pointed at him in triumph. “I'll remember that the next time you try to bitch about my singing.” 

Geralt grumbled and Corbyn laughed lightly. This was as good a parting as they were going to have. 

“After some time on land, I believe I'll be able to indulge you when we meet again.”

“It's a deal,” Jaskier said. “How about this time next year right here?”

“Until then,” Corbyn said with a half bow.

“Safe travels on the Path.” Geralt nodded at him and Corbyn returned the gesture before turning and heading down the road toward the south. He was going to Cintra to see how it had fared in his absence. The Crane school was long gone, but he still felt tied to the area. Jaskier was already looking forward to seeing him again. 

“Come on,” Geralt said as he held a hand out. 

“What?”

“Get on the horse, Jaskier.”

“I'm fine. I'm perfectly capable of walking.” And he'd just spent days in bed, so he was looking forward to getting some exercise. He just stared back at Geralt placidly as the other man glared at him.

“If you collapse on the side of the road, I'm leaving you where you fall,” Geralt said finally as he mounted and rode past him. Jaskier pulled out his lute and followed along side him. 

“You see, the problem with your threats, my dear Witcher, is that they no longer hold any meaning.” Jaskier's fingers danced on the strings and he laughed lightly. “If it looks like I'm flagging, you'll valiantly leap from your steed to catch me before I hit the ground.” 

“Hn.” Geralt grumbled but didn't contradict him. “How's your throat?” he asked instead.

Jaskier swallowed and hummed. He didn't feel sore anymore, though his voice was still a bit rough. “Much better.” He sang his way through a few scales and warmed up before singing softly for a while. Once they were out of sight from the town, he looked up at the clear sky and smiled. “Do you think the Sea Witch is still around?”

“Hard to say. They tend to live a long time if they're careful, but I doubt she stayed on the land for long.”

“Have you ever seen one, or is that out of a book?”

“Vesemir has dealt with one before.”

“Hmm. I bet there's a story there,” Jaskier murmured with a pluck of strings. 

Geralt huffed a laugh. “Good luck getting it out of him. He's not one for stories.”

“Only because you don't know how to ask.” Jaskier figured he could charm it out of him. Vesemir could be gruff and reticent at times, but catch him in the right mood and he'd talk your ear off. Jaskier had grown quite fond of him and he found himself looking forward to heading back to the keep for the Winter. But it was still summer. They'd head to Novigrad and travel around Temeria and perhaps some of Redania before heading northeast toward Kaer Morhen.

*******

Three weeks later, they were heading into the outer villages surrounding Novigrad on their way to the Seven Cats Inn for dinner before heading into the city. As they came to the small footbridge outside the inn, Jaskier spotted a tiny, giggling figure hiding just behind the gatepost. A quick scan showed him two more lying in wait. He shared a silent grin with Geralt who just rolled his eyes as Jaskier hooked his lute on the saddle and strolled forward nonchalantly towards the gate. 

“It's such a lovely evening,” he said with exaggerated calm, while pretending not to pay attention to his surroundings.

“Rah!” The tiny figure leapt from a stack of crates to his left in an attempt to tackle him. Jaskier caught them in midair and held them close as he whirled around in a circle.

“What have we here?”

The little Halfling boy giggled while his sisters cheered and hopped around at Jaskier's feet. The tallest didn't even come up to his waist.

“Jasser!” the boy lisped and hugged him tightly. 

“You've gotten so big, Franklin,” Jaskier told him.

“He's still a tiny peanut,” the smaller girl said with a laugh. Franklin puffed up adorably and growled down at her. 

“Almost big as you, Rinka!” he said as he wiggled out of Jaskier's arms and landed lightly on his feet to chase his sister across the yard. The oldest child looked after them and sighed like an exasperated parent, even though she was barely twelve herself. 

“Kids,” she muttered.

Jaskier laughed as he smoothed a hand over her curly mop of hair. “And how have you been since I last saw you, Cinia dear?”

She looked up at him smiled shyly. “Good. Do you have any new songs, Jaskier?”

“It just so happens that I have a brand new story to share.” He'd been working on the melody while they traveled from Hamm, though he'd kept the lyrics to himself so far. 

A lithe Halfling woman in a dress with split skirts and sensible boots stepped out of the inn. “Come on in you rascals,” Petunia said as she herded the younger children inside. “Oh!” She caught sight of Jaskier and beamed. “Jaskier, dear. What a delightful surprise. We were just about to sit down to supper. Come in, and bring your grumpy shadow with you.” She winked at Geralt who'd been watching all of this with a quiet smile. Cinia took Jaskier's hand in her tiny fingers, and he let himself be led inside by the Halfling girl. His gaze lingered on the packed wagon sitting outside of the inn. Inside, Petunia's husband was sitting at a table in the corner. 

“Jaskier! Geralt!” Bernie said with a smile as he stood to greet them. “What a sight for sore eyes. I was a afraid we'd miss you.” He gestured toward the innkeeper. “Dabney! Plates and beers for my friends.” He clasped hands with Geralt warmly while wrapping an arm around Jaskier's waist in a half hug. “Good to see you, lads,” he said.

The children clustered together on one of the benches in a fit of giggles and whispers while the adults chatted amiably over a meal of roast meat and vegetables. Jaskier had met Bernie during his first trip to Novigrad, and they'd become good friends quickly. The Halfling was easy with a joke but focused when it came to his work. 

“So where has the road taken you lads, since we last saw you,” Bernie asked.

“Well,” Jaskier began as he settled in to tell tales from their journeys. “Our travels have been mostly tame. But it really started to get interesting when we heard about the Selkiemore. It's mouth was a big as a house and it could eat a ship whole,” he said, grinning when the children gasped. He gave an embellished account of their journey, playing up the story of the princess and her fairy tale lover, and skipping Brokilon entirely. By the time he finished with the ballad of the Young Lioness and the Knight of Erlenwald, the children were yawning and rubbing their eyes.

“Well,” Petunia said as she ushered them to the back hallway towards their room. “It's off to bed with you.” 

Jaskier hugged each of them and kissed them goodnight before they toddled off after their mother. He watched them go fondly and smiled before heading back to sit with Bernie when they were out of earshot. “You're leaving,” he said quietly.

“Aye,” Bernie said, his mouth pulling into a frown as he tapped out his long stemmed pipe and refilled it. Lighting it with a coal from the fire, he puffed a few times, sending fragrant smoke into the air. “The Eternal Fire has come to Novigrad.”

The Eternal Fire was a cult that believed that humans were the rightful rulers of the world. They condemned magic and hated non-humans, often persecuting and murdering anyone who wasn't a full blood human. While they tried to couch their actions in rhetoric about protecting the people and hunting monsters, it barely covered for their blatant racism. They'd started out small, but they were steadily growing in strength and gathering resources as they spread across the north.

“Fuck,” Geralt muttered as he sipped at his beer. 

“Indeed.” Bernie puffed at his pipe irritably.

“How bad is it?” Jaskier asked him. 

“Not as bad as it could be,” Bernie admitted. “But it's bound to get worse. Heard rumor they were trying to make themselves official and set up a church in the city. Word is, they've been spreading cash around. They burned a hedge witch outside the Southern Gate a couple weeks ago. City guard didn't do a fucking thing.” 

“I thought they stayed in Modern Cities,” Jaskier said, thinking uncomfortably of Doldir. Though he knew it was probably psychosomatic, the bullet wound in his shoulder started to itch. 

“Never underestimate the ability of bigoted fucks to spread like a disease.” Bernie spat into the hearth. “They think they can cleanse the Wood and restore Modern Cities and technology.”

“Hn. That's a losing battle,” Geralt said quietly. “If anything, the Wood is spreading faster.”

“Aye, it is, if Lettenhove is any indication.” Bernie puffed his pipe a little harder. “That seemed to rile them up pretty good and we got a fair amount of refugees. Been a bit of a mess since then and it's getting messier.” He blew out a long stream of smoke and closed his eyes. “We're heading to Gors Velen. Cousin of mine has a farm there. It'll be a much better place to raise the youngins.”

“How do the kids feel about this?” Jaskier would be sorry to see them leave, but he was glad they had a relatively safe place to go. And it wasn't like he wouldn't be able to visit. 

Petunia came back out and leaned over to kiss her husband's brow. “We've been describing it as an adventure. I think Cinia knows we're leaving for good, but Tangerinka and Franklin are charmed by the idea of a grand journey.” 

“Bless their sweet little hearts,” Bernie said quietly. “I'd do anything to keep them from seeing the worst of what the world has to offer.”

Geralt sighed and nodded. “We just came from Hamm. The road's clear so long as you stay on the main path. You heading there alone?”

“No. We'll have an escort. We talked to your friend Stellan, like you suggested last time you were here. He's heading to Cidaris with his caravan, and said we were welcome to travel with him. We're going to meet him south of the city tomorrow morning.”

“Good.” Geralt nodded. 

Jaskier was pretty sure Geralt would have volunteered to take them himself if they'd been planning to travel by themselves. Clear roads or not, traveling with a family could be dangerous. 

“Well, lads, we've a long day of travel ahead of us tomorrow.”

“Of course. Good night,” Jaskier said and felt glad that he'd gotten a chance to see them. He and Geralt had been planning to stay at an inn in the city, but Jaskier was inclined to stay right here so he could see them off in the morning. He looked over at Geralt who just nodded, like he had the same idea. Jaskier got up to find Dabney so he could pay for a room right here. 

As they headed into the back hall, he saw the children peeking out through the door that was open a crack. Geralt curled his lip and growled at them softly, making them squeal and giggle before scrambling back into bed just before Petunia went in to check on them.

“What did I tell you about eavesdropping,” she said sternly, with a hint of warmth underneath. There was a quiet chorus of “Sorry, mama,” that didn't actually sound sorry. Jaskier smiled and chuckled quietly before opening the door to their room down the hall. He sobered as he thought about the Dryads and the children he would probably never meet. 

Geralt's hand smoothed gently down his back as he closed the door behind him. “What's wrong?” 

“Nothing. Just. . .a little sad, I guess.” He sighed as Geralt pressed up against his back and wrapped his arms around him. 

“They'll be better off on the farm.”

“I know. It's not that.” Jaskier tiled his head to the side as Geralt's mouth pressed against his skin. He closed his eyes and sighed before sucking in a breath lightly as he felt the light graze of teeth. “Really, Geralt. There are children just down the hall.”

Geralt turned him in his arms and claimed his mouth, momentarily hushing him before pulling back and resting their foreheads together. “You're going to have to be quiet, then,” he murmured against Jaskier's mouth before kissing him again and walking him back towards the bed. 

Jaskier hummed, unable to grump at him while he was being kissed breathless. By the time they'd pulled each other's clothes off and tumbled into the bed, he was singing quietly. 

*******

The next morning after breakfast, Jaskier and Geralt went with Bernie and his family to meet Stellan. When the caravan driver caught sight of Jaskier, he and came over to wrap him in a warm hug. Jaskier returned it easily and held on tight, his throat tightening momentarily as he though about how he'd saved Essi and gotten her out of Lettenhove.

“Good to see you, Jaskier.” Stellan held him until Jaskier finally started to relax. Only then did he pull back and clap him on the shoulder. “How have you been?”

“Good. I'm good. Listen,” Jaskier began and was suddenly at a loss for words. He had to swallow. “I saw Essi a few weeks ago. She told me you got her out of Lettenhove before it fell. Thank you.”

Stellan shook his head. “That's not necessary. I'm just glad she finally agreed to come with us. She just got into the Novigrad a few days ago and she's at the Kingfisher right now, if you want to catch up with her. I think she's headed to Oxenfurt next week.”

Jaskier smiled. “Thanks.”

There was a huffing snort from one of the caravan wagons. “You'll have to fight Brett for her attention.”

“Oh, shut it Becker,” Toby said as he rode up beside him and tossed his head to flip his blonde hair out of his face. “You're just mad that she turned you down.”

“I just don't know what she sees in him. I mean-”

“Becker,” Stellan said, his tone dry. “Shut it.”

“Right, Boss,” Becker said, sullen but obedient. He sighed and slumped in his seat. 

Jaskier just chuckled. “Thanks for looking after Bernie and his family. They don't deserve to live in fear.” 

Stellan's expression sobered. “Nobody does,” he said quietly. “And it's my pleasure. I know you don't quite understand what we do, but part of our mission is to help people when they need it.”

“I understand. I just don't understand your boss.” Jaskier had never met Dijkstra, and Geralt told him that he never wanted to draw the man's attention, but he'd heard a great deal and most of it was contradictory.

“Dijkstra is just a contact, not our boss. Nobody really understands him,” Stellan said with a shrug as Geralt came over.

“It's part of his charm,” Geralt said dryly. “Do you need anything before heading out?”

“We're good. How are the roads? Heard you came in from the west.”

“Clear from here to Hamm on the main pathways. Not a lot of threats aside from the usual.” Drowners were like cockroaches. They seemed to be everywhere.

“Good morning, Mr. Hofmeier,” Stellan called brightly.

“Mornin',” Bernie said with a wave as he came over to clasp Stellan's hand. “I appreciate you taking us along with you.”

“It's our pleasure,” Stellan said. “Ma'am.” He nodded at Petunia who was driving the Hofmeier wagon and then at the children who were all piled on top of the packed belongings in the back. Franklin waved and grinned at Stellan and the man chuckled warmly as he waved back. “Good morning, young sir. Ladies.” The Halfling children beamed. Jaskier went over to say goodbye.

“You could come with us, Jaskier,” Cinia said hopefully. 

“I would love to accompany you, my dear,” Jaskier said with a graceful bow. “But I'm afraid my Witcher would be lost without me.” He could practically hear Geralt rolling his eyes behind him. Jaskier took her tiny hand and kissed her knuckles, which made her giggle and blush. “Until we meet again, my Lady,” he said gallantly. 

“Blech.” 

“Eeew.”

Franklin and Tangerinka were scrunching up their faces in mock expressions of horror and disgust. 

“It's called _romance_ ,” Cinia said primly as she settled back on per perch on top of the wagon. 

“it's called grossness!” Franklin declared. 

“Keep an eye on your mom for me, okay,” Jaskier told him. The little boy nodded solemnly before leaning down to hug him and whisper in his ear. 

“What if nobody likes me because I'm tiny?”

It broke Jaskier's heart to hear the uncertainty in his voice. While his sisters may tease him, Franklin knew what real hate was like and had seen it first hand, despite his father's intentions to protect him. Jaskier pulled back and peered into his face.

“No matter how tall you are, remember that you're fast and you're smart. Have pride in the things you're good at. And if someone doesn't like you for such a silly reason as your size, they aren't worth your friendship.”

“Okay.” Franklin didn't seem quite convinced, but at least he was thinking it over.

“Don't worry. If anybody looks at him the wrong way, I'll get 'em,” Tangerinka said as she punched her tiny fist into her palm. 

“You are truly fearsome,” Jaskier told her. “But fighting isn't the answer.” 

She pouted. “I know. But nobody gets to pick on the peanut but me.” 

Jaskier chuckled. “I wish I had a big sister like you when I was growing up. Stick together, yeah?”

Tangerinka nodded and curled an arm around her brother's shoulders. He snuggled into her side and Cinia drew them both in. Petunia sighed and looked fondly at Jaskier. She leaned down from her seat on the wagon and he kissed both her cheeks.

“Safe journey,” he told her.

“Kind roads,” she replied. 

“Melitele watch over you,” Bernie said as he came over to give Jaskier a hug. “Come see us next time you're in the neighborhood.”

“I will. I promise. Take care.” Jaskier watched the wagons pull out and waved one last time to the kids and felt a mild sadness tug at him. Bernie and his family were some of his favorite people and he'd been looking forward to spending some time with them while they were here. That would have to wait until next year. Geralt slung an arm around his shoulders and pressed his lips to Jaskier's temple. 

“We'll head west to see them next spring.”

Jaskier leaned into him. “Okay. Come on. We need to get you sword looked at and I need a drink.”

“It's a little early, isn't it?”

“It's never too early to drown your sorrows.”

Geralt chuckled. “So melodramatic.” He whistled for Roach who had wandered a bit away before mounting and heading for the city. Jaskier walked alongside and tried to find something else to look forward to. He perked up considerably when he remembered that Essi was in town and made a mental note to head over to the Kingfisher. He wondered if it had any connection to the bar in Lettenhove.


	18. Love in the Time of Swords and Dumplings

Novigrad was a free city that didn't owe fealty to any nation. It shared borders with Redania and Temeria, but neither could lay claim to the port or any of the land behind the city's walls. It was a center for trade, a haven for criminals since there was no extradition, and Oxenfurt University was close enough that there were a fair amount of scholars who were in residence. But what Jaskier liked the best, was the people. Novigrad crowds were a mix of lively, raucous people from all over the Continent. And while he'd received mixed reviews his first time here, his reputation had grown so he was now requested instead of being forced to charm his way into being allowed to perform.

“Did you sleep at all last night?” he asked Geralt as they stabled Roach with a Dwarf in Farcorners just outside the city gates. 

Geralt hummed in response as he headed toward the city gates. “Enough.”

Jaskier sincerely doubted it. It wasn't uncommon for Geralt to rise first, since Jaskier wasn't overly fond of mornings. But every time Jaskier woke lately, Geralt was already awake. Sometimes he was mediating on his own and sometimes he was curled around Jaskier, but he didn't seem to be sleeping much anymore. 

Once inside the city walls, they joined the throngs of people that were going about their day and headed toward the harbor. It had been more than a year since they'd visited. Jaskier expected to hear the clang of a hammer on an anvil as they got closer to the shop Geralt had indicated, but he only heard the chatter of people and the cluck of caged chickens from a passing cart. Geralt frowned as they came to a building with two tables out front. An Elf with a long, white apron was serving a man a bowl of dumplings. When he saw Geralt, he grimaced. 

“Hattori,” Geralt said as he nodded in greeting. 

“Geralt.” Hattori gestured toward the door to his shop. “Come in.” 

Inside there was a small cooking area and ingredients stacked neatly on the shelves. Jaskier didn't see any sign of any weapons or smithing tools, but the dumplings smelled delicious.

“Decided to change professions?” Geralt asked the Elf, his brow raised.

“Yes, well. Dumplings are by far, a less dangerous occupation,” Hattori said. “I have a feeling I know why you're here, but I'm afraid I can't help you.” He picked up a bowl and turned a lump of dough out onto the flour covered counter, rolling it out with practiced motions.

“I didn't realize swordsmithing had become dangerous.” Geralt glanced around the shop. “Is there a particular reason it's suddenly so hazardous that you decided to cook instead of smith?”

Hattori glanced toward the door nervously and continued to work the dough. “No reason. I've just found a new calling, is all.” 

“Hn.” Geralt sighed. “Are you sure?”

“Look. I'm just trying to survive here.”

“By making _dumplings_.”

“Geralt-” Hattori began.

“Is it the Eternal Fire?” Geralt asked.

“Thank fuck, no. And keep your voice down,” Hattori hissed. “It's not safe to talk about them, and the last thing I need is to draw their attention.”

“Then what's your problem? You're the finest swordsmith in the area and I need your services. Nobody else is good enough to touch my blades.”

“While I appreciate your confidence in my abilities, I can't. . .”

“Are you happy?” Jaskier cut in.

“I beg your pardon?” Hattori looked Jaskier up and down, his eyes taking in the lute and his mint green doublet and trousers, before settling on the puffed shoulders with teal silk lining the cutouts. “You are. . ?”

“Jaskier the Bard, at your service,” Jaskier said with a courtly bow before straightening again. “Do you enjoy making dumplings?”

Hattori shrugged. “I'm good at it.”

“That's not what I asked.” Jaskier said gently. “Are you happy?”

Hattori swallowed before answering and looked away. “No.”

“Then what can Geralt do to help you?” Jaskier had a feeling he wouldn't be of much use himself aside from offering encouragement and reassurance. But he'd long since grown comfortable enough to offer Geralt's help, and the other man wasn't discouraging him.

“I. . .” The Elf glanced out the door again as his last customers finished their meal and dropped coins on the table. “Wait just a moment. We'll need privacy for this conversation.” He went out to pocket the money and bring the dishes back inside before closing the door and gesturing for them to follow him through a door in the back. Jaskier whistled in appreciation when he saw the blades on display in the next room. He couldn't gauge their quality the way Geralt would, but the Witcher wouldn't have come here if Hattori wasn't skilled. 

“Why are you making dumplings when this is clearly where your talent really lies?” Jaskier asked him.

“It's complicated,” Hattori said carefully. “Competition has become. . .difficult to overcome. A new swordsmith set up shop over in the harbor.”

“What competition could possibly compete with your work?” Geralt asked him. “You're the only master swordsmith worth knowing in the north. You can't honestly tell me he's more talented than you.” 

A snarl pulled at Hattori's mouth. “No, he certainly is not.” The Elf took a breath to calm himself. “And he knows it. So he decided to force out his competitors. At first it was just intimidation and when I didn't give in to his threats, he had me beaten.” He rubbed absently at his arm and Jaskier could see a scar peaking out from under his rolled up shirtsleeve. “I hired a bodyguard and kept working, but now he has support from the suppliers, gods know why, and I can no longer get materials to do my job.”

Jaskier glanced around. “Did your bodyguard ditch you? I didn't see anyone when we came in.”

Hattori sighed. “I could no longer pay for his protection. It hardly matters since I can't make swords anymore. Hoorn got what he wanted in the end.”

“If I go talk to this Hoorn, will you start working again?” Geralt asked him.

“I'm not sure what you'd be able to do. He's bribed the suppliers and I think he's got some of the city's underworld on his side, so he's not afraid of anyone, not even a Witcher.” Hattori looked at the swords on the wall and his expression fell before he quickly covered it. “But if you can get me my shop back, I will offer you a discount on weapons and repair your blades free of charge as long as I'm still in business.”

“Deal.” Geralt strode out of the room and Jaskier glanced after him before quickly saying goodbye to Hattori and following him. 

“So. Are you going to rough Hoorn up or are we just going to talk to him first?”

“We're heading to the Kingfisher so I can find Brett and leave you with him. Then _I_ will go deal with this.”

“A babysitter? Really? I thought we'd moved beyond this. We're dealing with an unscrupulous merchant, not a superhuman monster.” 

“Who has already sent men to physically beat his competition. He won't hesitate to send someone after you. Remember Maribor?”

Jaskier sputtered. “That was a misunderstanding. I can hardly be blamed for the actions of people who clearly hate music.” 

“Jaskier, Martenson had you kidnapped and threatened to hang you from the library tower because he was trying to get me to stop investigating the murders in the foregate. It had nothing to do with your singing.”

“Oh.” Jaskier paused in the middle of the street, but Geralt curled his fingers in his doublet and kept him moving, making him stumble along at his side until he got his feet under him again. “Alright, alright. Just give a man a moment to contemplate his near demise with grace.” 

Back in Maribor, Jaskier had been grabbed off the street in broad daylight while strumming his lute. He'd spent the rest of the day in the company of some rather unsavory people while gagged and tied to a chair, but nobody told him why. They weren't exactly a talkative bunch. Then they'd left him alone and Geralt had shown up shortly after that. They left town immediately and he'd been happy enough to have his freedom, he hadn't asked about it.

“It's been more than a year, and it's hardly the closest you've come to death,” Geralt huffed. “You'll get over it.”

“Wait, you didn't actually give in to his demands for my sake, did you? That's bullshit. He killed six people.”

“I already had the information I needed when he contacted me. He just didn't know that until after he told me where to find you. I'm sure he's been executed for his crimes by now.”

Jaskier shuddered. “I swear I don't get in trouble on purpose,” he said. 

Geralt sighed and let go of his doublet to slide his arm around Jaskier's shoulders and pull him in against his side as he continued walking.

“You're quite the pair,” a seductive female voice said from the balcony above them. “Broad shoulders and delicate hands. My kind of combo.”

The lady was made up and coiffed elegantly with her silken robe slipping invitingly off her shoulder. Novigrad brothels offered a variety of partners and the showier employees often catcalled from the windows and doorways. Jaskier smiled up at her. 

“It's a privilege to be complimented by such a lovely lady.” 

“Ooo. Such pretty words. There are far more interesting things you could be doing with your mouth,” she said with a seductive curl or her painted lips. “I could offer a discount for the two of you.

“Geralt-”

“No.”

“But I know you like women.”

“I will not share you with her.” Geralt's arm tightened around his shoulders as he lead him away across a small footbridge that led further into the city. Jaskier turned his head to wink at the woman and blow her a kiss. She laughed and winked back, not offended that they'd declined the offer. Jaskier hadn't really been serious. He just wanted to see what Geralt would say. And it was a handy distraction to change the subject. 

They made their way through the fish market and under the archway into the main market square. Jaskier made a mental note to stop into the bookstore to replenish his paper and ink. He also had a history book in his bag that he'd found down in Hochebuz. Hodgson was always on the lookout for new volumes. Jaskier could bypass Vivaldi's bank for now. He had enough funds for a room and meals, and the proceeds from selling the book should cover anything else. 

The Kingfisher was new and hadn't been there last year when they'd been in the city. The property had been empty for some time, but it looked like it had been renovated. Jaskier paused as he saw the familiar sign out front. He'd been wondering if the name was a coincidence, but he could see now that it wasn't.

“What is it?” Geralt asked him.

“The Kingfisher used to be in Lettenhove. Oliver must have moved here.” Heading up the steps, Jaskier opened to the door to see rich woodwork throughout the space. A small elevated platform off to one side led to the stairs that went upward towards a balcony and the private rooms. A busy, well appointed bar sat along the left wall, and the other end of the room offered a large stage walled in curtains and red drapery. It was framed by two open hearths that bathed the room in a warm glow. 

A strange sense of homesickness hit him. The Kingfisher in Lettenhove had been comfortable with the same kind of atmosphere. It's original location had been strictly modern, but somehow Jaskier felt that this was how it should be. He sighed in contentment as the babble of patrons washed over him and he moved over toward the bar.

“Julian!” Sebastian stared at him with wide eyes before moving out from behind the bar to come over and wrap Jaskier in a tight hug. “Essi said you were alive, but I didn't quite believe her.”

Jaskier took a shuddering breath and returned the embrace as he got over his surprise. “I'm so glad you're okay,” he murmured into Sebastian's neck. When he pulled back, he glanced at the bar before turning looking back at Sebastian with a bit of skepticism. “Bartending? You haven't giving up on nursing, have you?”

“No, no.” Sebastian stepped back and dropped his hands to his sides as he glanced nervously over Jaskier's shoulder. 

“Stop glaring at him, Geralt. He's an old friend,” Jaskier said without looking back. Well, actually, he was an old boyfriend, but he didn't say that out loud. He and Jaskier had dated back in Lettenhove before Jaskier's attention had wandered and he realized he couldn't be what the other man wanted. Their parting had been amicable, but he didn't think he'd see him again.

Sebastian's eyes widened. “Geralt, as in Geralt of Rivia?” A light bulb seemed to go off above his head. “Oh, my gods, you're Jaskier! Holy shit! Essi didn't say it was you!”

Jaskier chuckled. “She tends to forget details. Or more likely, she thought you already knew.” Jaskier shrugged. “I was too self conscious to tell you my stage name before.”

Sebastian glanced back at the bar when someone called for him. “Come sit at the bar and we can catch up. Uncle Oliver is meeting with a supplier, and we're a little short handed until he gets back.”

“ _Uncle_?” 

Sebastian shrugged and grinned sheepishly. “He thought it would be better if nobody knew we were related. He's my mom's brother, and he was doing me a favor by giving me a job before. Now I'm helping him out while while he gets this place set up.”

Jaskier settled on a bar stool and Geralt sat at his elbow. Sebastian poured Jaskier a glass of apple juice without being asked, and Jaskier asked for a mead for Geralt when Sebastian raised his brow in question. 

“So that nursing degree has gotten a little bit more complicated, I guess,” Jaskier said. 

“Yeah. But the good new is that I don't have any student loans at the moment,” Sebastian said with a shrug. “Hard to pay people back when the University of Lettenhove is rubble now.”

“What are you going to do now? Work here full time?”

Sebastian shook his head. “No. The work is fine, but I'd be unhappy doing it forever. I'm going to Oxenfurt for the fall term. Their medical program is supposed to be pretty good.”

“You don't want to practice medicine someplace that has a modern hospital like Ard Carraigh or Cidaris?” Jaskier had talked to him about the Wood, but he didn't quite know what Sebastian thought of it.

“You know, I thought I'd want that. Leaving Lettenhove was. . .rough. We stayed longer than we should have and it got kind of ugly.”

“Yeah, Essi told me. I ran into her down in Cintra before she came back up here.”

Sebastian grinned. “She hasn't come down yet this morning. She and Shani had a late night.” His expression softened. “She's been a really good friend during all of this. Back in Lettenhove we. . .” He blew out a breath.

“I didn't know about the obituary until later. I'm so sorry.” A few weeks after Jaskier went into the Wood for the first time, his cousin Ferrant had posted an obituary announcing Julian Pankratz's death. It was an attempt to make people think he was dead so no one would look for him if he went missing. Everyone who knew Jaskier thought he died, though Essi and Sebastian were the only two people he really cared about.

“It ah. . . it wasn't a great time,” Sebastian said with a small sigh. “I thought you were. . .but we got through it. And then the city fell apart.” He shook his head. “It's better now. And I like it here.” He grabbed a mug and poured an ale before handing it off to a customer. “I'm going to be taking classes with Shani. I think I have a lot to offer. It's obviously not the same as modern medicine, but it's still really important.”

“Good. I'm glad you have plans.”

“What about you? I've heard the songs. Is any of it true?”

“Eh. It's about half and half. I'll let you guess which parts are truth and which parts are creative license.” Beside him, Geralt huffed irritably into his mug. Sebastian glanced at him warily again.

“He's just a person, Seb. Yes, he could bench lift both of us at the same time, but most of the crap you've heard about Witchers isn't true.”

“Sorry.” Sebastian winced. “I didn't mean. . .sorry.”

“Just relax and don't worry about it. Do you have a room available? We'll be in the city for a few days. Probably at least a week.”

“We have a couple openings. One bed or two?”

Jaskier smiled at him softly. “Just one, Seb.”

Sebastian sighed again. “Okay. You want me to have a bath set up?” 

“That would be wonderful.” At Geralt's pointed look, Jaskier just stared back. “I am going up to our room to take a bath, and then I'm going to hang out with Essi all day if she doesn't have plans. Go find Brett yourself.”

“He'll probably be in sometime later today,” Sebastian told them. 

Geralt finished his drink and put a coin on the bar. “I'm going to look at the notice board outside and check the contract I saw on the way in. I'll be back by midday,” he said before stalking toward the door and outside.

“Whoa,” Sebastian breathed as he watched him go. “I uh. . .I didn't upset him, or anything, did I?”

“No.” Jaskier waved a hand dismissively. “He was already irritated when we came in, so don't worry about it. And he's never as angry as he looks.” When he was actually angry, he was much quieter and scarier. Jaskier grinned at Sebastian. “I'm pretty sure he took off to give us some time to talk.”

“Oh.” Sebastian thought about that for a moment as he poured another drink and handed it off. “How did you meet him?”

“He found me actually.” Jaskier chuckled as he remembered the first time he went into the Wood. “I got treed by Wargs and he took care of them.”

“And you two are. . .”

“We've been together for three years. And he's. . .amazing.” There were not enough words to describe how Jaskier felt about Geralt.

Sebastian sighed again. “That's good. If you're happy, I'm happy for you. He's ah. . .really protective of you.”

“He is. Sometimes too much.” But he wasn't really, given Jaskier's track record when he was left on his own. “Cheer up. Oxenfurt if full of horny college students.” 

“I'm not interested in just sex,” Sebastian said quietly. “That's easy enough to come by if that was all I wanted. I want. . .something permanent.”

Jaskier's expression softened. “I'm sorry I couldn't be what you needed.” 

“No. You are who you're meant to be. Fuck.” Sebastian looked up and blinked rapidly for a moment before sniffing and looking at Jaskier again. “You just weren't meant to be with me. And that. . .that's okay. I really am happy for you. I guess. . .I guess I just wanted. . .more than you could give. That's not a bad thing,” he added quickly. “I should be over this by now. It's been over three and a half years and sometimes it still feels like we just broke up yesterday.” His eyes still held a misty sheen. “Wow, this is not going how I imagined it.”

“Yeaahhh. I've found that no matter how you plan a conversation, it usually goes sideways halfway through.” Jaskier smiled when Sebastian chuckled. “Are you going to be okay?”

“Yeah,” Sebastian said after a few moments. “I'm good.” He looked at Jaskier thoughtfully. “You look really happy.”

“I am ridiculously happy. When I'm not running for my life or tripping over danger, which happens more often than I like. But I'm happy.”

“I'm glad you have a Witcher with you.”

“He's not always thrilled about it, but he takes care of me.” 

Sebastian waved at the door. “There's Uncle Oliver. I'll go get that bath set up. When you come back down later, you'll have to tell me some of the stories behind the songs. I bet you leave out some of the best bits.” 

Jaskier grinned at him. “I can do that.” He watched Sebastian head back into the kitchen before staring into his cup and watching the surface of the juice ripple. Now that he was alone with his thoughts, he felt his eyes pricking with unshed tears. That had been a lot. He was going to have to take some time for himself and parse his feelings to get settled again before he came back down to see Essi.


	19. Friends Meeting Friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I survived my first week back to work. Yay! Now bring on the weekend. I'm ready to put my extensive plans into place to do nothing and just relax.

Jaskier felt calm and composed when he came back down freshly washed in a clean outfit of butter yellow silk. He grinned when he spotted Essi slumped over a mug and a bowl of porridge at a table by the one of the hearths. Settling by her gently, he braced his elbow on the table and rested his cheek in his hand.

“This reminds me of that night during our second year where you tried to drink Edmond under the table.”

Essi turned her bloodshot eyes to him and grinned viciously. “And I succeeded. He was barfing in the kitchen sink long before I passed out.”

“So what's the occasion this time?” 

Shani came over with a steaming mug that smelled slightly of wintergreen. “We were celebrating a lovely Tuesday evening,” she said as she set the drink down in front of Essi before sitting across from them. 

“With some lovely Everluce,” Essi added before blowing on the tea and taking a sip gingerly. 

“Whoo. That's some strong stuff,” Jaskier said in sympathy. “I once got incredibly drunk on less than half a bottle.” The first time he'd spent the day with Elihal, they'd shared a bottle and Jaskier had been more than a little tipsy when Geralt had come to collect him. 

Essi peered at him from over the rim of the mug. “I didn't expect to see you again so soon. How did Cintra go?”

“Good. It was good,” Jaskier said a little too quickly. 

“Really.” Her eyes narrowed in a way that told him she knew he was full of shit.

“Yup, it was the experience of a lifetime, and I was glad to be a part of it,” he said cheerfully before leaning in a little closer. “A detailed description of events will require privacy and a lot of alcohol.” When she winced, he patted he on the shoulder. “For me, Darling. I intend to drink heavily while telling the story, so it will have to wait until later.”

“Tonight then,” she said. 

“I had hoped to take you to see a friend of mine today, but you look a little worse for wear,” he told her as he brushed a lock of hair out of her eyes.

“Oh, I'll be good in just a moment. Shani makes some miracle tea.” Essi winced as she took a large gulp of hot liquid and sighed. 

“It's just willow bark,” Shani told her. “And if you'd drank more water and eaten better last night, this morning wouldn't be quite so painful.” Shani smirked when Essi glowered across the table at her. 

“Wine is a fruit. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.” Essi turned to Jaskier as she stirred the porridge in her bowl. “So who's this mystery friend of yours?”

“Have you been to Elihal's shop? It's just outside the Tretogor Gate.”

“Mmm,” she hummed dreamily. “He does good work. I've been saving up for a gown for the festival in Vizima next summer. How do you know him?”

“I met him in Yspaden my first year in the Wood and we hit it off immediately.” Actually, Jaskier had seen through the illusion that made his Elven appearance look Human. And then he'd made an embarrassing assumption by coming on to him. Elihal wasn't interested in men, but he and Jaskier had become close friends very quickly. “He makes most of my clothes.”

Essi reached out and ran her fingertips over the dandelions that were embroidered along his cuff in pale blue thread. “He seems to know your size,” she said with a smile.

“He only knows my measurements for tailoring. The rest remains a mystery at his request,” Jaskier said with a smile. “He's just a friend and I'm with Geralt.” 

“So your Witcher is enough for you, then? You've been with him for a while now.” She immediately closed her eyes and frowned. “Sorry, sorry. I think I'm still a little drunk.”

Jaskier chuckled. “It's alright. You know me better than most, so if anyone can make that assumption, it's you.” He paused for a moment. “But I'm not interested in anyone else,” he said. 

His heart had been fickle for so long. He loved so easily and his attention often wandered. But since he'd met Geralt, he hadn't been interested in anyone else. He'd been with Balen for a short time, but that was when he never thought he'd see Geralt again, and before they'd gotten together. Essi nodded and started eating her porridge, pausing after the first bite to make sure her stomach wouldn't revolt immediately. Once she felt settled enough, she kept eating.

An hour later, the two of them were headed down toward the Tretogor gate chatting about their experiences in the city. Jaskier had his lute slung over his back, as he never parted with it willingly. Shani was going to spend some time at the hospital and didn't plan to be back until later that night. 

Just east of the market square, there was a man in rough red and white robes speaking to a small group of people. His hood was pulled down low and he spoke with a quiet, viscous intensity. Jaskier only caught a few words of his hateful speech and all of them were awful. The only thing that was worse was that the people actually seemed to be listening to him. Jaskier put a protective arm around Essi's waist and steered her away from him.

“Racist piece of shit,” she muttered when they were out of earshot. “I think feel a song coming on.”

“Hating them back isn't going to make it better. And be careful. Getting on the Eternal Fire's bad side isn't a good idea.”

She paused just inside the gate. “But that's literally part of our job as Bards. We spread news and keep people informed. It's not just entertainment.”

“Essi, I'm serious. Don't mess with them.” He took her shoulders and resisted the urge to shake her. “They're far more dangerous than ordinary assholes because they actually _believe_ they're doing the right thing.” He remembered the casual hatred on Doldir's face when he talked about killing Jaskier just because he wasn't Human. Something in Jaskier's expression seemed to get through. Her lips thinned in distaste, but she nodded.

“I promise I will be careful.” She sighed and looked away. “You're usually the impulsive one.”

“That was before I was nearly murdered for a song and got shot because I'm not Human. Contrary to popular belief, I am capable of learning.”

“Selectively,” she said with a raised brow and a small smile.

His mouth curled up. “I never said it was a sure thing.” Jaskier took her hand and they continued through the gate and across a small bridge down toward the river. The houses were a little less grand outside the city walls. Groups of buildings had gone up for the less affluent people who lived here. Some of them couldn't afford to live inside the walls, while others chose to live here. But the colors were bright with multicolored ribbons hanging from doorways and flowers painted along the wooden frames. 

Elihal's shop was a low building down at the water's edge. A small bell tinkled as they entered and a tall figure wearing a long, embroidered gown turned to greet them. Elihal's features were delicately made up with colored eye shadow, rouged cheeks, and a bright lipstick that accentuated the curl of his mouth. His hair was longer now, and the short curls were pinned back from his face with silver clips. 

“Jaskier, my dear,” he said. “What a delightful surprise. And who is this lovely creature?”

Jaskier stepped forward to embrace him and kiss his cheek before stepping back to make introductions. “This is my best friend Essi. She's the one who gave me the clothes I was wearing when you and I first met.”

“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, my dear,” Elihal said as he bent over her proffered hand and kissed her knuckles. She smiled warmly in return as he eyed her blue trousers and boots, taking note of the pearls sewn into her turquoise vest. “You have immaculate taste. That needlework is lovely.” 

“Thank you. I bought the vest, but I sewed the pearls myself during my first winter in the Wood. I'm delighted to meet you.”

Elihal quickly scanned Jaskier's doublet and trousers. “No blood or muck. What a pleasant surprise.”

“Oh, hardy har,” Jaskier said with a dry smile, more amused than annoyed by the teasing. “How have you been since I last saw you?”

“Oh, well enough. Things here have been interesting lately.”

“I heard about the Eternal Fire trying to move in.”

Elihal's lips thinned as he gestured toward a low divan along the wall. “Yes, they're certainly colorful. My hope is that they'll get bored and go away.”

“But you don't think so,” Jaskier said as he sat.

“No. I don't. It's why I urged Bernie to take Petunia and the children to Gors Velen.”

“Geralt and I had dinner with them last night and saw them off this morning. Stellan is taking them.”

“Good. Now I won't have to worry about them as they travel. Next time you see Stellan or his fellows, remind them that they get free repairs for life, or at least as long as I'm able to sew. They helped me get this place set up when they didn't have to. Vaz is quite handy with a hammer.”

Jaskier hadn't known that. He sighed and relaxed back into the cushions as Elihal poured them tea from a pot that had been steeping when they came in. Jaskier accepted a cup and looked around. The layout of the building was different, but the Elf had stuck to the same type of aesthetic as his previous shop. Colorful fabrics hung from the open rafters and two mannequins held works in progress. There was a half done doublet in shades of ocher and walnut brown along with a hoop skirt hanging from the second form beneath a tightly ruffled collar. 

“Where is that from?” He asked, nodding at the skirt frame.

“One of the ladies who lives in a villa on the north side of the city recently returned from Toussaint. She's hoping that the fashions there will catch on locally. It's a little cumbersome. The bodices are heavy and layered and the collar looks dreadfully uncomfortable. But it's a nice change of pace from standard doublets and dresses.” He looked at Jaskier's clothes again. “Do you need to trade out some items?”

“Yeah, but I'll come back and do that tomorrow. We plan to be here at least a week. Thanks again for letting me keep some of my things here.” Most of Jaskier's wardrobe was at Kaer Morhen. He had an entire room to himself and the Witchers had moved in four large wardrobes and two dressers to hold everything. They weren't full, but he was happy to have the space. Choosing what to wear when he left in the spring was always a difficult decision. He was glad that he was able to keep some his things here so he had more than two or three options to work with for the entire season. 

“It's my pleasure,” Elihal said graciously. “And what about you, my dear. Are you satisfied with your current wardrobe options?”

“Well actually, I've been saving up for a gown for a bardic festival next summer.”

“Keep your money,” Jaskier told her. “Pick whatever you want. On me. It's the least I can do.”

Essi looked at him for a moment before leaning over to kiss his cheek. “You don't have to.”

“I know. But I like being able to do things for the ones I love. It's my pleasure, really.”

Her smile widened and Elihal guided her to her feet so he could take her measurements. He didn't take nearly as many as Bellamy, but he didn't really need to. The fit of his garments was superb and they rarely needed adjustments. 

“If you have anything that requires special care, I can clean it gently. And for anything else, Vespula has just taken over the washing yard nearby. She's thorough, and gentle enough on most things.”

“Uh. Has she. . .” Jaskier trailed off. “Is she still holding a grudge?”

Elihal's smile turned sly as he ran his measuring tape along Essi's arm. “You'll have to ask her. But an apology would do wonders, I should think.”

“It wasn't my fault. I didn't promise her anything,” Jaskier protested.

“And yet, she was throwing your things out the window the next morning.” 

“Oh, do tell, Mr. I'm a One Witcher Man Now,” Essi said with smile.

Jaskier made a face. “Geralt was out killing something and I ran across her when I was heading back to the inn. She'd just gotten mugged and I let her stay in my room for the night. The next morning, she ah. . .made some advances. I politely declined. With the way she reacted, you'd think I had proposed marriage and then immediately changed my mind.” Jaskier hunched down over his teacup. “Sometimes, it's hard to do good deeds because all you get is complaints and trouble.” 

“Do you have anything else you want to do today, or are you good here?” Essi asked him.

“Gonna go wait for Brett?” Jaskier wagged his eyebrows at her suggestively and was rewarded with a light flush along her cheeks. She turned so Elihal could measure along her side seem down the outside of her left leg. “I'll have you know,” she said primly over her shoulder “That he is a complete gentleman.” 

“I didn't expect anything less from him.” Jaskier toasted her with his cup. “But you should prepare yourself because I plan to give him the protective brother speech the next time I see him.” 

“Jaskier, don't be a sexist dick.”

“I'm not.” His look softened. “You're really important to me. I trust him to look out for you and for you to take care of him. He needs. . .” Jaskier sighed. He didn't know the details, but sometime in Brett's past, he'd been affected by magic in a bad way and it was something involving a lot of blood. “He needs someone compassionate,” he said finally.

“I know,” she said softly as she came over and leaned down to kiss his forehead. Turning back to Elihal, she gave him an apologetic look. “Can I come back tomorrow to talk about the design?”

“You have something specific in mind?”

“Not really. It's just an idea,” She said.

Elihal nodded. “Of course. Allow me to put together a selection of samples, and together, we'll come up with something that will draw attention with elegance.”

“Deal,” she said. “How about you, oh protective brother of mine?”

“I'll be fine here. I'll come see you tonight.”

“Should I send Geralt over if I see him?” She asked.

Jaskier huffed. “I do _not_ need a babysitter.”

Essi and Elihal exchanged a knowing glance.

“Hey! Is there some club I don't know about where you all get together and gang up on me?”

Essi laughed and patted him on the shoulder. “We wouldn't tell you if there was, Darling. See you tonight.”

Elihal watched her go with a smile. “Oh, I like her very much.” 

“Same.” Jaskier sighed, but he wasn't really angry. It was good to have people that cared about him even when it was annoying.

“Is there a particular reason you require an armed escort?” Elihal asked lightly as he set his teacup aside and pulled the doublet off the mannequin. 

Jaskier pulled out his lute and adjusted a couple of the pegs even though it didn't really require tuning. “Oh, Geralt is off trying to find Brett so he can sick him on me. He's going to go talk to some prick who thinks he can beat up sword smiths so he's the only one in town. Do you know Hattori?”

“By reputation only. We didn't travel in the same circles before. . .before now.” Before the Great Cleansing, he meant. Elihal had escaped the murder of his people, but he left Elven society and hid among Humans with a charm that changed his Elven appearance. Or at least he did until Jaskier showed up and blew his cover. He didn't bother to hide now, and he looked better for it. “Is Hattori in trouble? I saw that he had switched professions suddenly, but it seemed rude to ask why.”

“Some guy named Hoorn sent goons after him and they beat him up. Now he can't get supplies. Geralt's going to help him out so he can get his sword repaired.”

“And Geralt believes that you need protection because. . .” Elihal turned his head to look at him speculatively.

“Nobody should be following me here. Nothing is going to happen to your shop. Promise.” The first time they'd met, men had been looking for Jaskier and they'd come to Elihal's shop. During the altercation that followed, the entire place had burned to the ground.

“That's good to hear, but any pursuers will find it a little bit harder to get close without being noticed here. The neighborhood watch will alert everyone if strangers approach. We look out for our own.”

“Good. With everything that's going on, I'm glad everyone is sticking together.” And he'd worry a little less. 

“What I meant was, why would you require protection during all of this?”

“Well. . .” Jaskier hesitated. “Sometimes people target me to get to Geralt. He's worries that someone will try to grab me again if he makes waves.”

“Again?”

“Long story, but I'm fine. It usually works out. It's fine.” Jaskier plucked the strings hard and forced himself to relax. He was glad when Elihal turned back to the doublet and changed the subject.

“So aside from rescuing wayward craftsman, what brings you to the city?”

“You, mostly,” Jaskier said as he started to play. He watched Elihal's shoulders slowly relax as soothing music filled the room. “But apparently, Hattori is the only one Geralt trusts to touch his swords, so we came up here to get them fixed.”

“I often wonder what it takes to damage a Witcher's blade,” Elihal said as he turned the doublet inside out and started working on some of he cutouts along the sleeves. 

“Well, first it was a Katakan. And then there was a giant Serpent.” Jaskier grinned when Elihal turned widened eyes in his direction.

“You've certainly been having an eventful year.”

“Oh, and there was a Merman. But he was really a Witcher under a curse, and I fixed it. The next time I see Corbyn, I'll send him over here. Just because Geralt doesn't care what he wears doesn't mean everyone is oblivious.”

Elihal laughed, the sound light and joyous. “I have missed you, my friend. I'm eager to hear everything.”

Jaskier started playing the Ballad of the Young Lioness and the Knight of Erlenwald. “Well, it all started with the Selkiemore,” he began.


	20. Unwelcome Rememberances

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update. The power has been out all afternoon and evening. I just now got the chance to read through this chapter so I could post it.

In Elihal's shop, Jaskier worked his way through his tale with care, describing events with color and a little embellishment. He talked about the betrothal, but left out his personal experiences. Jaskier felt that some things were best kept to himself, for his own sake and for Elihal's. He'd already gotten him in trouble once for something that had nothing to do with him. The Elf had to leave Yspaden suddenly with a fraction of his belongings. Jaskier didn't want to put him in that position again even by accident.

By the time Jaskier finished telling Elihal about all the things that had been going on over the past few months, it was dark outside. Jaskier wasn't afraid of walking on his own at night in the city. He knew which neighborhoods and side streets to avoid. The city guard wasn't completely incompetent, and it wasn't that far to the Kingfisher. Jaskier promised to return the next day with things to be cleaned and to swap out a couple of outfits. Out in the street, Jaskier peered around, but saw no sign of Vespula. He'd talk to her tomorrow perhaps, but not tonight. 

The sky was warm and clear. Despite the lights from the city, he could still see the stars twinkling through the haze of torchlight. The evening was soft with the sound of crickets. When he crossed the small bridge and through the gate into the city, he could hear the creak of wagon wheels as porters took advantage of the lack of foot traffic to ferry their wares through the streets. There was enough light along the main streets to see well enough, but he found that he could see fairly deep into the murk of the alleyways as well. He glanced occasionally, just to keep an eye out, while trying not to make it look like he was looking too hard. 

A pained sound caught his ear, and the voice sounded strangely familiar. His hearing had improved along with his vision when he'd changed himself from Human back to an Elf. Jaskier saw the shadow of a person leaning over a second who was slouched against the wall. He would have found the nearest guard, but he knew both shadowy people and he wasn't going to walk away from this. He drew his knife and moved forward with long strides, pressing the blade against the side of the standing man's throat. 

“Don't you fucking touch him,” Jaskier hissed. Preston raised his hands carefully. 

“Funny meeting you here, Minstrel,” he said carefully. “I assure you, it's not what it looks like.”

“I don't give a fuck what it looks like.” Jaskier wasn't going to let his guard down. The man had kidnapped him and dragged him back to Lettenhove before selling him to his cousin Ferrant. Jaskier had initially thought he'd been taken for ransom, but Ferrant had paid Preston a bounty to capture him and bring him home.

“Jaskier,” Vaz wheezed and coughed as he pressed hand to his side. Jaskier could smell blood.

“Back away,” Jaskier said to Preston and the man moved a few steps back so Jaskier could put himself between them.

“For fucks sake, Jaskier. Put the knife down.”

“Do you have any idea who he is?” Jaskier asked without looking away from the other man.

“He's a son of a bitch, but he's useful. Put the fucking knife away before one of the gods damned guards see you.” Vaz reached up to tug at Jaskier's pant leg. Jaskier reluctantly sheathed the blade and knelt at Vaz's side while trying to keep an eye on Preston, who was watching him with a pleasant, neutral expression. Jaskier wanted to punch it off his face.

“What the hell happened?” Jaskier asked.

“Not here,” Vaz wheezed.

“I was trying to get him back to the Golden Sturgeon,” Preston said mildly. “Before you rudely interrupted me, that is.”

“Fuck that,” Jaskier said as he helped Vaz to his feet. “My room at the Kingfisher is closer and I know a healer that's staying there.” He hoped Shani would be able to help. Jaskier struggled with Vaz's weight a little but refused to say anything as he guided him out onto the main street. It was a slow walk to the Kingfisher and he was glad it was so close. The initial rush of adrenaline had started to fade, but he refused to let himself start shaking. He sang softly under his breath as he brought Vaz to the inn's backdoor. When he finally got it open, Sebastian looked at them in surprise where he was setting down a crate of bottles.

“Julian, what. . .oh, shit.”

“I need to get him up to my room. Can you bring some clean towels and hot water?” Jaskier asked him. “I'm sorry to bring problems here.”

“It's okay.” Sebastian looked around before pressing a couple spots on the wooden panel next to him. A small door opened with a click to reveal a narrow set of stairs. “These will take you directly to the third floor without anyone seeing. Press the button on the right side of the door frame at the top to open the other door. I'll be right up with the things you asked for.”

“Thank you.” Reluctantly allowing Preston to help him, Jaskier eased Vaz up the stairs. He'd gotten quieter the longer he was forced to stay on his feet, and his head was lolling against his chest. “C'mon Vaz. Stay awake.” 

When they finally reached the third floor, Jaskier's breath was heaving. The door to his room was right next to the secret panel. Preston closed it quietly behind them without being asked, and Jaskier struggled to get the key to his room out of his pocket. He hissed at Preston when the other man moved his hand out of the way and took the key from him so he could open the door himself. 

“Calm yourself, boy. It's in my best interest for him to live. Unless you want him to bleed to death, you'll put your petty complaints aside so I can help him.”

“Petty!” Jaskier huffed. “You . . .erg.” He bit off the rest when the door open and he moved to take Vaz inside. 

The door across the hall opened and Essi stepped out. “Jaskier, I was wondering. . .oh, gods. Vaz.” She darted back into her room before coming back out with Shani who was in her nightclothes, blinking her eyes in the dim light of the hall. 

“Wha-?” Her gaze sharpened immediately when she saw Vaz slumped in Jaskier's arms. “Get him inside,” she said, her voice suddenly holding steel. “On the bed.”

Jaskier struggled to comply. “Seb's bringing clean towels and hot water.”

“Essi, go get my case,” Shani said, her posture straight and unyielding despite her lack of clothes as she herded them into Jaskier's room and they placed Vaz on the bed. His breaths were shallow and he'd broken out into a sweat. Shani opened his coat and peeled up the edge of his shirt to reveal a long, jagged gash along his left side that was weeping blood. “What happened?”

“You'll have to ask that asshole,” Jaskier said tightly, nodding at Preston. He held himself as still as he could as he tried to ignore the cooling chill of Vaz's blood where it had soaked through the side of his doublet and shirt. 

“You can save the sanctimonious attitude,” Preston said, his voice clipped. “I am not responsible for this. He would have died already if I hadn't found him when I did.”

Essi came back in and glanced at Preston before handing Shani a large leather case. Shani opened it with nimble fingers and Jaskier saw that it was full of compartments holding jars and bundles of herbs. Jaskier turned just as Geralt filled the doorway, his expression hard and his nostrils flaring. Jaskier wasn't quite sure how he'd known he was there. He certainly hadn't heard him come up the stairs. When Geralt's eyes landed on Jaskier, his gaze traveled down to the messy bloodstain at his side. 

“It's not mine. Chill the fuck out,” Jaskier snapped.

“I know it's not yours,” Geralt rumbled as he came into the room and made way for Sebastian who held a steaming bucket and an armful of towels. Sebastian paused and scanned the room warily before setting the towels on the bed when Shani held out her hand. The bucket was set down on the bedside table within reach.

“I'll just ah . . .” Sebastian backed up a step and bumped into Geralt who had shut the door and moved up behind him. He looked up over his shoulder, his complexion going pale. 

“Is your uncle downstairs?” Geralt asked him. 

“Yeah. He's fine. It's fine,” he said, stumbling over the words.

“Go downstairs and bring up a pitcher of Redanian Lager, mugs, three pitchers of water, and whatever food is ready to eat that will keep for a few hours,” Geralt told him as he put a pouch of coins in his hand. “Be discrete.”

Sebastian took a deep breath and put the pouch in his pocket as he drew up his shoulders. “If anyone asks, you're hosting a private party. No one will bother you,” he said, tone even and sincere. When Geralt nodded and stepped aside, Sebastian left the room with a quick glance at Jaskier before he closed the door.

Shani gestured to Geralt and Preston. “The two of you need to hold him down so I can deal with this. The bleeding has almost stopped, but I need to close him up with stitches, and I don't have any anesthetics with me.”

“What can I do?” Jaskier asked. 

“Stay out of the way,” she said. 

“But-”

Essi took him aside as Geralt moved over to the bed. “Hey,” she said gently and cupped Jaskier's cheek. “He's okay.”

Jaskier shivered as his resolve started to slip. Without something to do, he was crumbling a bit.

“Brett is downstairs and I need to go get him,” Essi said, her voice calm and even. “Will you be okay here for a few minutes?”

Jaskier nodded numbly. He could hold himself together. He'd be utterly useless if he didn't. He winced as Vaz let out a pained sound and Preston pressed a twisted length of towel between his teeth to hush him. 

“Alright, Darling. Come sit down.” Essi guided Jaskier over to a chair by the fireplace and sat him down gently. “I'll be right back.” And then she was slipping out through the door and closing it behind her. 

Jaskier flinched again as Vaz let out a muffled whine behind the towel and fought against Geralt and Preston's hold. Jaskier's own breathing started to shudder and he leaned forward to put his head between his knees. Jaskier sat there and focused on breathing in and out as he tried to ignore the pained sounds and the swearing from the bed.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Brett swore as he came in with Essi and Sebastian behind him. “What the fuck happened?” Jaskier felt a hand on his shoulder and he was gently being sat up in the chair. “Jaskier, are you. . .”

“It's not mine,” Jaskier said, shrugging and feeling the gummy stickiness of blood drying on the cloth against his side. He looked into Brett's eyes and tried not to look miserable. “I found him.”

“Good,” Brett said softly as he glanced at the bed. He blew out a breath between clenched teeth and forced himself to relax. “Is this your room?”

“Yeah.” 

“Let's get you some clean clothes, then,” Brett said. 

“Over here,” Essi said as she picked up Jaskier's pack and took it over toward the empty bathtub that sat behind a decorative screen. 

Jaskier let himself be drawn to his feet and led over to the bathing area. The suite was fairly large and even though it currently had eight people in it, it wasn't crowded. Geralt and Preston knelt on the bed over Vaz as Shani worked. Sebastian was setting out the food and drinks on the sideboard while Essi and Brett tended to Jaskier. They stripped him out of his bloodied doublet and shirt before washing the sticky blood off his skin with water from the pitcher and basin on the stand. They inspected him for damage despite his reassurances that he wasn't injured. 

When they were done, he was dressed in his last pair of clean trousers and a black shirt he'd stolen from Geralt. It was loose on his frame and he had to roll up the sleeves. He refused to let them take him across the hall to Essi's room. He wasn't leaving Vaz even if Geralt was here to keep an eye on him. The shaking had eased as Jaskier accepted a mug of beer from Sebastian gratefully. Essi pressed a sandwich into his other hand. 

“You need to eat something too. Unless you ate earlier after I left, you don't have anything in your stomach right now.” 

Jaskier nodded and chewed without tasting between sips of beer. He quickly switched to water when his stomach protested. He'd drink later when he calmed down. Essi sat in a chair next to him, rubbing his back gently as she kept an eye on the rest of the room. Brett stood at her side, his hand on her shoulder, like he was trying to stay grounded. His muscles were taught like he wanted to pace the room, but knew it wouldn't be helpful. Sebastian stoked up the fire and set a kettle on to boil, preparing a medicated tea per Shani's clipped directions. 

When she was finished stitching and had cleaned and bandaged the wound as well as she could, she had Geralt hold Vaz up so he could drink the tea Sebastian made. Vaz sighed softly as his eyes fell closed and he was laid back on the bed. 

“He needs sleep. I'll keep an eye on him. The rest of you can do whatever you need to now,” Shani said as she went over and washed her hands in the water left in the basin by the tub. 

Sebastian took the basin when she was done and headed to the door. “I'll bring up some extra blankets and a couple of spare mattresses in a little bit. Is there anything else anybody needs?” When everyone either shook their heads or murmured a negative, he left. 

“Now,” Brett said as he stepped forward to regard Preston with suspicion. “What the fuck happened?”

“Preston said he didn't do it,” Jaskier cut in before the other man could say anything. “But I don't trust him.” 

“Nor should you,” Brett said. “But that doesn't tell me anything.”

“Do you know who he is?” Jaskier's voice was bitter.

“Preston is an independent contractor we work with sometimes,” Brett said. “How do _you_ know him?” 

“He kidnapped me and brought me to Lettenhove so he could sell me to Ferrant.”

“For fuck's sake, Preston,” Brett hissed as he threw his hands up. “Were you that fucking desperate for money?”

“I enjoy money, Mr. Merrill. There's a distinct difference. How I get is matters very little to me.”

Jaskier had a sneaking suspicion and he hated it. “You're not going to do anything about that, are you?” he asked Brett.

“I can't.” Brett ran a hand through his hair. “He's useful.” 

“That's what Vaz said before he passed out.” Jaskier leveled his gaze at Preston and knew it wasn't friendly. “You came very close to dying tonight.”

“Of what? The knife you held in a hand that was shaking like you had palsy? Save the false bravado, you pathetic child. You are no danger to anyone.” Preston's eyes flicked to the side to where Geralt was hovering at his shoulder. “Call off the Witcher, Brett. My cooperation is brokered on my continued good health.”

Geralt seemed to loom where he stood even though he hadn't moved. “I don't give a fuck about your cooperation. And you're not useful to me.”

“Geralt, please,” Brett said, exasperation bleeding into his words. 

“No. The moment a man starts taking money for lives, he forfeits his own.”

“The boy didn't die, as you can plainly see,” Preston said as he gestured to where Jaskier sat. He stared up at Geralt with a cocky expression on his face, but it withered a bit as Geralt took a step forward.

“Which is the only reason you're still breathing,” Geralt growled quietly.

“Oh, the Butcher of Blaviken is lecturing me about the worth of lives. How poetically ironic,” Preston sneered as he tried to save face. “It was a job. I got paid. End of story.”

“Enough,” Brett hissed. “Did you get anything useful?”

“I was to meet with Vaz tonight to get instructions, but he was already half dead when I got there. You'll have to ask him if he gathered any information.”

“Then get out of my sight,” Brett breathed as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “What a fucking night.”

Preston drew himself up and sauntered out of the room like he owned it. Brett waited a few minutes before he spoke again, like he was waiting for something. There was a knock on the door an Sebastian poked his head in. 

“Can somebody give me a hand?” 

Brett went out into the hallway and helped bring the mattresses and blankets. They set them aside in the corner of the room.

“Did you see anyone in the hallway?” Brett asked him.

“No. And I came up the back way, so nobody's lingering there either. I didn't really want to show it to a stranger, but it was an emergency.”

“That's alright. Thank you for your help.” Brett nodded at him.

“Anything you need.”

“Thanks, Seb,” Essi said as she got up to give him a hug and kiss his cheek. “I think we're okay for now. I'll bring the dishes down when we're done.”

He looked like he was about protest, but he relented when Jaskier shook his head. So he sighed and left the room. 

“Your boss certainly hires some interesting people,” Jaskier said bitterly.

“I'm not having this discussion with you right now.” Brett crossed his arms across his chest and went over to look down at Vaz's pale face. “What the fuck were you doing tonight?” The unconscious man didn't answer.

“You don't know?” Geralt's rumble was still a growl. 

“We're not attached at the hip. He was working on something on his own. And before you ask, no, I didn't know anything about Preston. But even if we had known what he was doing back in Lettenhove, he's right. He's protected from prosecution due to some rather complicated circumstances.”

“That's fucking bullshit,” Jaskier muttered as he slumped in the chair. Now that the emergency was over, he was exhausted. 

“Bullshit is part of the job,” Brett told him, sounding just as tired. “There's nothing else we can do until Vaz wakes up. I can't even report this because I don't know what _this_ is.”

“I'm staying in here tonight just in case,” Shani said, her voice matter of fact. “I'll keep an eye on him until he's on his feet again. He's my patient now.” Shani went over to one of the spare mattresses and Essi got up to help her get it set up. The medic was asleep quickly. 

Essi laid out the other mattress and gestured to Jaskier. “Come here,” she said. “You need sleep.”

Jaskier rolled his eyes but went over and shucked his boots before flopping down onto the stuffed straw pad. It was surprisingly comfortable, considering the circumstances. Essi tucked him in and kissed his forehead before getting to her feet. Brett put an arm around her shoulders and he looked to Geralt.

“I'll be staying across the hall. Come get me if he wakes up.”

Geralt nodded and settled by the hearth on his knees after Brett escorted Essi out of the room.

“Geralt,” Jaskier said quietly.

“Hn.” 

“Were you really going to kill Preston?”

“Yes. Go to sleep.”

“Could you at least pretend to not talk about murder in front of me,” Shani slurred, her voice thick with sleep.

“Sorry,” Jaskier whispered. He tried to settle, but it took a long time for him to get to sleep himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have mixed feelings about the beginning of this chapter. It feels a bit rough, but I don't have the patience to fix it. The last part of this story was written while I was going through some things and it may have bled into the writing. But I'm confident in the story itself, so it should be fine.


	21. Holding the Fort

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, dear readers. I hope your week is treating you well. Hang in there.

Jaskier slept fitfully that night. Vaz woke twice, his panting breaths and groans waking all of them. Shani had to clean the wound and change the bandages each time. The second time, Geralt had to help him use the chamber pot to take a piss before lowering him back down to the bed. Vaz was able to drink some water before slumping back into an uneasy sleep. By morning, all of them were irritable. Even Geralt seemed to be glowering more than usual. 

Brett and Essi came back over the next morning and cleared out all the dishes from the night before, taking them downstairs and bringing up more water, a pot of porridge, a bowl of berries, and a loaf of bread with honey for breakfast. Brett, bless him, handed Jaskier a mug of steaming coffee. He lingered over the mug and sighed at the scent of his favorite blend. Sebastian always remembered everything. 

“Fuck.” Vaz stirred and let out a mumbled string of obscenities. Shani went over to check on him and take a look at the bandage.

“Serves you right, you prick, for going out on your own without checking in first.” Brett went over to sit on the edge of the bed out of Shani's way. “What the hell happened?”

“Got a lead on that messenger out of Rinde,” Vaz mumbled.

Geralt's attention sharpened where he was still kneeling by the hearth. 

Vaz pried his eyes open to regard Shani with confusion. “Who're you?”

“The medic who saved your life,” Shani told him. 

“Thanks, I guess.” Vaz's eyes drifted closed again. 

“He needs to eat something and drink some water before you start asking him questions again. His health comes first.” Shani's tone left no room for argument.

“Jaskier had a knife,” Vaz mumbled. “Somebody take it away from him b'fore he hurts himself.”

“Fuck you, asshole.” Jaskier sat up on the makeshift bed, and ran a hand through his rumpled hair. “I thought he was going to kill you.” He fought the urge to look around to see where the blade currently was. Geralt would give him hell for losing track of it again.

“Naw. Preston wouldn't get paid if I was dead.” Vaz groaned as he shifted on the bed. Brett and Shani helped prop him up on some pillows. “Fuck.”

They all ate breakfast in relative silence and Shani made some healing tea for Vaz. He accepted the mug gratefully and seemed a little more aware. There was color in his cheeks again even though he still looked tired. Shani excused herself to bathe and change, and probably give them some privacy. Essi left as well. They'd hesitated to talk in front of them. 

“You said you were following a lead on the messenger out of Rinde,” Brett prompted. 

“Yeah. I got so close. The intel was good and it checked out. Went to the meeting place at the right time, but I'm not sure what happened. The next thing I know, I'm bleeding in an alley and Preston was there.” He looked over at Jaskier. “And then you showed up looking like you were about to slit his throat. What the fuck, Buttercup?”

Jaskier relaxed fractionally at the nickname. He'd been unnerved when the other man had called him Jaskier the night before. Vaz never used his real name. “I _was_ going to slit his throat. I thought he hurt you.”

All three of them looked at Jaskier in surprise. He felt sick about it, but in that moment the night before, he'd been ready. He may have been a failure when he was training in Kaer Morhen, but he knew what to do. Jaskier just stared back at them.

“Jaskier,” Geralt rumbled. 

“You wanted me to learn how to protect myself. You can't honestly be surprised that I'd use the knowledge to protect someone else.”

“Hn.” Geralt grunted where he was still kneeling in front of the fire and looked back at Vaz. “Why are you looking into Rinde?”

Brett and Vaz gave him cool looks before glancing at each other. Brett shook his head and Vaz just shrugged before turning back to Geralt. “We can't discuss our specific interests. You won't work with Dijkstra.”

“Isn't Rinde a Modern City?” Jaskier asked.

Brett shrugged. “Nobody knows. People who go in, don't come out again.”

Jaskier already knew the stories. It had been designated as a no man's land because nobody answered calls and people didn't return to talk about what went on there. Geralt got to his feet and picked up his sword case before heading out of the room without a word. Jaskier set his mug aside before scrambling after him, padding out into the hall in his bare feet. 

“Where are you going?” 

“I need to look into something. Stay here.”

“Something about Hattori or is it about Rinde? Last time I checked, people were disappearing there.” Jaskier nearly bumped into Geralt when he stopped and turned around.

“Rinde is only two day's ride from here on my own. There's something there I need. You will slow me down.”

Jaskier blinked at his hard tone. “Okay,” he said slowly, trying not to feel stung by his words. “But what about. . .”

“I'll be fine. I've been traveling for a long time on my own. I don't need your permission to go anywhere.”

“I never said you did. Geralt. . .” Jaskier huffed. “What's wrong? Talk to me.”

“I can't sleep.”

“I figured by the way I haven't seen you relax and close your eyes in days.”

“Weeks.”

“What?”

“It's been weeks since I've slept,” Geralt said, his voice tight like he was trying to control his temper.

“But your slept fine in Brokilon and in Hamm. That wasn't that long ago.”

Geralt sighed. “Appearances can be deceiving.”

Jaskier thought back to all the times he's seen Geralt sleeping. Had he really been pretending? When was the last time he'd actually gotten any sleep? He tried to think of something that might have happened to make things change so drastically. “Have you not slept since the betrothal?”

“Hn.” 

Jaskier took a breath and tried not to fidget. That was alarming. He put a tentative hand on Geralt's shoulder as he tried to move away again. “You'll. . .you'll come back, right?”

“Yes,” Geralt sighed, fatigue making him sag. “I will come back.”

“Okay.” Jaskier sucked in a breath and let it out slowly. “I'll stick with Brett until then.”

Geralt nodded and headed down the stairs. Jaskier watched him go and had an incredibly bad feeling. 

Brett poked his head out the door. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah. I guess.” Jaskier came back into the room and went over to put on his boots. Vaz was asleep again. “Did Geralt or Essi tell you anything about what's going on?”

“Essi mentioned something last night, but didn't get a chance to really explain before you showed up.”

“What do you know about a guy named Hoorn?”

Brett sighed and sat in one of the chairs by the hearth. “Ernst van Hoorn?”

“Probably. I didn't get his full name.”

“What about him?”

“You know what he's been doing?” Jaskier tugged on his left boot and stood. He looked down at his appearance and curled his lip. Blue trousers and a worn, black shirt. He really needed to have Elihal clean his things.

“Jaskier, I don't give a fuck about what some second rate sword smith is doing. It's none of my business.” 

“Even when he screws up trade by forcing out his competition?”

“I'm not a trade enforcement officer. It's not my job,” Brett huffed.

“What exactly _is_ your job?” 

“Jaskier. . .”

“Look. My Witcher just fucked off with a damaged sword because he can't sleep. One of my best friends got knifed, and the guy who sold me to Ferrant gets to walk around freely for no apparent reason. The least you can do is help me get the Elf his shop back.”

“Elf? Elihal's shop is fine.”

“Which is a good thing, because I need a change of clothes. Come on.” Jaskier picked up his lute and slug it over his shoulder.

“What are you talking about?” Brett seemed really confused. “I can't leave Vaz alone like this.”

“Fuck.” 

There was a soft knock on the door before Essi and Shani came back in. 

“What's wrong?” Essi asked Jaskier as he settled the lute case over his shoulder.

“I've got some stuff to do, but. . .Geralt had to go and I promised him I'd stay with Brett, and he can't leave Vaz.”

Essi went over to Brett and he stood so she could give him a hug. “Ebren is downstairs,” she said. “If I can convince him to come up here, will you go with Jaskier?”

Brett huffed a sigh. “He should really stay put for now.”

“I'm not a fucking prisoner,” Jaskier protested. “Geralt hasn't even talked to that Hoorn guy yet, so there's no immediate danger from that. I intend to stick with you because I made a promise, not because I need you.”

Brett raised a brow. “So you weren't going to enlist me to help this mystery Elf who you haven't told me anything about aside from the fact that he has a shop?”

“Elihal?” Essi asked.

“No!” Jaskier threw his hands up and whirled around. He was really bent out of shape about this whole thing. Once again, events were getting out of his control.

“Fuck, Buttercup,” Vaz mumbled from the bed. “Calm down.”

“Sorry,” Jaskier said, suddenly feeling bad that he'd woken him.

“Brett, take him to see the Elf,” Vaz said.

“Which one?”

“Whichever one's got him so worked up.” Vaz blinked his eyes open to look at Brett evenly. “If you don't, he'll probably sneak out and do it on his own.” He turned his head on the pillow to give Jaskier a flat look when he sputtered a denial. “Don't deny it, you're already thinking about how you can slip away.”

Jaskier closed his mouth with a click. He'd been doing just that.

Vaz turned his gaze back to Brett. “Get Ebren up here. He's here to see me anyway. We were going to meet up last night and he's probably wondering where I am. And I'll feel better if you stick with Jaskier.”

“Fine,” Brett said, his voice tight. 

“I'll go get Ebren,” Essi said. “Do you need anything before you go out?”

Brett stood and buckled his sword belt. “No, I'm good.” He turned to Jaskier. “Do _not_ leave without me. I'm going across the hall for a few minutes. I'll be right back.”

“Okay, okay. Thank you.” Jaskier raised his hands in a placating gesture. He fought not to pace as he waited while Shani settled in a chair by the bed with a book. “Thank for helping last night,” he told her.

“I'm glad I was here to help.”

“Do you need anything? What do you charge? I can take care of it.” For the first time, Jaskier realized that he had no idea what the cost of medical care was in the Wood.

“I've got it, Buttercup,” Vaz mumbled.

“Go back to sleep.” Jaskier wasn't going to let him pay for anything.

Shani pulled out a piece of parchment and opened her case before looking through each compartment and writing a few things down. “There's an herbalist in the Bits who usually has some rare stock. Bring me anything on this list.” 

Jaskier took the list and nodded. “I can do that.”

“Hey.” Vaz was looking up at him again.

“Yeah?” Jaskier sat down on the edge of the bed. 

“Be careful, yeah? Don't do anything stupid.”

“I never intend to do anything stupid. You guys just give me shit after stupid things happen.”

Vaz sighed and winced. “Just stick with Brett.”

“That's the plan. Honest.”

“Hmm.” Vaz was already drifting off again.

Jaskier got up and paced a few feet away. “How bad was it, really? I didn't get a good look last night.” He hadn't wanted to. 

“The wound wasn't terribly deep but he lost a lot of blood. He'll need some time to heal before he gets up and moves around too much.”

Brett came back in with his hair freshly brushed. A large man with dark skin, a sleek, bald head, and lots of muscles came in behind him. He wore simple sailor's breeches and a thick vest, leaving his arms bare. Essi nipped in with her lute and a notebook. She came over to give Jaskier a half hug with her free arm.

“I'm going to stay with Shani today.” She nodded over at the new arrival. “This is Ebren. He'll be here too.”

Ebren nodded at Jaskier. “Don't you worry. I'll be keeping an eye on them today.” The depth of his voice sang along Jaskier's bones and his brows raised just a touch. 

“I'm Jaskier, and I appreciate it. It's a pleasure to meet you.”

Brett clapped Ebren on the arm. “Thanks. We'll be back by lunch.” He turned to Jaskier. “Unless this turns out be more complicated than you said.”

“I have no idea. Let's go before you change your mind.” Jaskier picked up his pack headed for the door.

Down on the street, Jaskier headed immediately for Elihal's shop. “You got anything you need repaired or cleaned?”

“I'm not here to take you shopping.”

“I'm not shopping. I need a change of clothes. I am not walking around the city like this all day.” 

“Oh for-”

“Shut it, Brett. You have no idea how difficult the last few months have been. I have no idea where Geralt is, and I have very little patience left. So cut me some freaking slack.” After last night, the reality of the last several weeks had come into sharp relief. The betrothal, the Katakan, the Dryads, and the Sea Serpent. Not to mention Yennefer. It had been a long time since so many big events had happened so close together and his nerves were frazzled.

“Alight. Sorry. So who is this Elf you mentioned, if it's not Elihal.”

“A swordsmith named Hattori. Hoorn threatened him and sent some goons to beat the crap out of him. Now he can't get supplies. Geralt was going to look into it so Hattori could start working again, and fix his swords. But now he's gone off to Rinde and I have no idea what's going on.”

“Wait, what? He went. . .son of a bitch,” Brett swore. 

“Yeah, that's what I said,” Jaskier said as they came to Elihal's shop. 

“Good morning, Jaskier. Brett.” Elihal nodded at both of them. Today he was wearing a fitted doublet and tight trousers. “Oh, my. That's certainly a choice.” He eyed Jaskier's mishmash of clothing. 

“I had a bit of an adventure last night. Does your cantrip work on blood?” Jaskier said as he pulled out his clothes from the night before. “It's not mine,” he added hastily.

“Well,” Elihal said as he took the yellow silk. “It should. Who was injured?”

Brett sighed. “Vaz got hurt last night, but he'll be fine.” 

“He's not in the hospital, is he? Dreadful place if you don't have money.”

“No,” Jaskier told him as he rooted around in the chest against the wall that held his things. “He's with Essi and her friend who's a healer in my room in at the Kingfisher.” Jaskier pulled out a turquoise doublet and trousers he didn't quite recognize. It was very similar to the first outfit he'd worn into the wood, but that one had been mostly destroyed when he fell down a ravine and ripped it. This one was better made and the colors were more vivid. “Are you keeping other things in here?”

“No. Everything in there is yours. You described your first outfit with such sorrow after losing it, that I've been working on a replacement for a while.”

“Thank you.” Jaskier fingered the scarlet fabric in the cutouts along the front of the doublet, touched by the gesture.

After taking the new clothes into the other room and changing into them, he smoothed his hands over the soft silks and sighed. He felt more like himself now. The fit was perfect as usual. He settled his lute on his back and carried his pack out. Elihal had cleaned the yellow outfit and Jaskier put it in the chest while the Elf used his magic on the black shirt to freshen it. Jaskier bundled a dark blue and a coppery brown outfit into his bag and took back the black shirt. That was as good as it would get for now.

“Be careful,” Elihal told him. “I will head over to the Kingfisher to make sure the linens are truly clean. Don't worry about Vaz.”

“Thank you again,” Jaskier told him before they left.

Out on the street, he headed back into the city, past the Rosemary and Thyme and up to the herbalist's shop that Shani had told him about. He wanted to get that off his list as soon as possible so he wouldn't forget. To his surprise, there was a precious bottle of Redanian Herbal on the shelf. He bought it without haggling. The supply at Kaer Morhen had been low for a while and it was hard to find, so Jaskier had been keeping an eye out in all the taverns and herbalist stalls he visited. Brett was surprisingly quiet during all of this as he trailed after him silently. Maybe he really understood that Jaskier's patience was terribly thin just now. As they came back out, there were two large men waiting for them.

“Mr. Merrill,” the one on the left said. “If you'd please follow me.”

“I'm good,” Brett said. He stood loosely, but Jaskier had learned to read the relaxed body language that was an indicator that a person was ready to unsheathe their weapon and cut someone open with a few quick moves. 

“Mr. Reuven insists,” the second man said as he crossed his arms over his chest. “It would be his pleasure to host you at his humble establishment this fine day.”

Brett hissed out a breath between his teeth and he tilted his head at Jaskier. “Go back and wait . . shit.” 

Jaskier glanced behind him to see a third man hovering at his shoulder. Jaskier waggled his fingers in a nervous wave. “Hellooo.” 

“Leave him alone,” Brett said his voice tired. “He's just a bard.”

Geralt had tried to use that excuse before when they'd been captured by Elves. It didn't work then either. The man behind Jaskier put a huge, meaty hand on his shoulder and started to steer him forward while the other two gestured for Jaskier and Brett to walk ahead of them. They started guiding them through a nearby archway and north out of the Bits towards the markets.

“For the record,” Jaskier said to Brett. “They weren't here for me, so this is _so_ not my fault.”

“Shut it, bard,” Brett grumbled.


	22. Conflicts of Interest

Jaskier and Brett were brought the heart of the city into a deeply recessed doorway that was so dark it needed lanterns in the middle of a sunny day. Jaskier had never been here before. When the door opened, he was greeted with a cloud of hot, steamy air. Since when was there a bath house in Novigrad? They were greeted by a nasally man that led them into a changing room. The large man who had snuck up behind Jaskier followed and stood just inside the door while the others peeled off and went back outside. Jaskier eyed the thick, fluffy towels and just barely resisted the urge to run his fingertips over them. 

“So now what?” He looked over to see Brett getting undressed. “Seriously?”

“Strip or be stripped. Trust me, you don't want to find out how that works the hard way.”

“Right.” Jaskier took off the brand new clothes that he'd been wearing for less than an hour, and neatly folded them before putting them in a waiting basket. After wrapping one of the sinfully soft towels around his waist, he slung the lute case over his shoulder.

Brett eyed it. “You don't want to bring that in there. We're going in the steam room and it will get damaged.”

“I'm not leaving my lute behind. Don't worry about it.” If it could survive being submerged in the ocean, a little steam wouldn't bother it.

“Suit yourself, but don't bitch about it later.,” Brett huffed. 

They were led through a series of rooms with steaming marble pools surrounded by mostly naked people. It was lush and decadent with free flowing wine and bowls of fruit. In a backroom behind a door flanked by a pair of porters that were obviously guards, there was a steam room with carved marble benches. A large, bald man sat reclining in one of the seats with his arms spread out long the low shelf behind him. There was a smaller towel draped around his neck, but it couldn't hide his bulk. It was the kind of body that appeared soft and ponderous, but usually hid layers of muscle. The man gestured to the other seats.

“Gentleman, have a seat.” His posture was lax and there were bags under his eyes, but his gaze missed nothing. There was a sharp intelligence there that had Jaskier feeling wary. Though he'd never met the man or heard a description, he had a feeling he knew who he was. Settling on one of the benches, he smiled.

“Sigi,” Jaskier said brightly. Beside, him Brett took in a sharp breath and blew it out slowly. The large man chuckled and regarded Jaskier with curiosity. 

“I don't believe we've been introduced,” he said with a crooked smile.

“Jaskier the Bard, at your service,” Jaskier said with a small, seated bow. He could heart Brett's teeth clicking together.

“Sigismund Dijkstra. And since you don't seem overly concerned about the condition of your instrument, would you mind playing something light and soothing?”

“Of course.” Jaskier took out the lute and plucked the strings experimentally. It sounded sweet and appeared unaffected by the moisture in the air. Dijkstra drizzled a small ladle of water over the heated rocks in the grate and the music floated over the resulting hiss of steam. They sat quietly for a while with only Jaskier's music breaking the silence. Dijkstra closed his eyes and leaned his head back. But despite his apparent ease, Jaskier had no illusions that he was less dangerous when he appeared so unaware. Jaskier played to soothe his own nerves and calm himself. He was so stressed by what had happened last night and this morning, he had no room for anything new. But his ire seemed to fade as he sat in a situation where he had no power or influence. All he could do was play.

“Are you interested in consistent, gainful employment, Jaskier the Bard?” Dijkstra asked after a few moments of quiet. 

“I like traveling,” Jaskier told him, plucking the strings delicately in a quick series of notes. “I find I enjoy the freedom of being able to pick my engagements carefully.”

“Even though the roads are dangerous and the opportunities potentially scarce?”

Jaskier returned his gaze steadily and kept his expression pleasant. “I get by.”

Dijkstra hummed thoughtfully before turning to Brett. “I hear you're having a difficult time getting the information I asked for, Mr. Merrill.”

“Vaz's night went much worse. And Preston's in the city, if you're interested.”

“I'm not. Morally bankrupt individuals who are more interested in money than providing quality service are of no use to me. And as he is more interested in retrieving people than than information, he's even less than useful.”

Jaskier snorted and made a face. “I knew I should have cut his fucking throat,” he muttered, feeling a distressing wash of adrenaline at his own harsh words. He could feel his hands starting to shake and he had to focus on playing to keep from hitting a wrong note.

“You're rather bloodthirsty for a bard,” Dijkstra said with a tilt of his head. “Are you sure you're not interested in a job?”

“He's not,” Brett cut in. “We don't have any information. Vaz wasn't able to get anything before he got knifed. Whatever is in Rinde, it should be left alone.”

“You know better than that, Brett. The only mysteries worth solving are the ones that have no obvious answer.” 

Jaskier said nothing, and he certainly didn't mention that Geralt was on his way to Rinde right now. 

“I expected more than that,” Dijkstra said as he examined his nails casually. “You're generally some of my best men.”

“We work _with_ you, not _for_ you,” Brett said, his voice cold. “I'll have better resources when Stellan returns from Cidaris. Until then, there's not much I can do for you.”

“Well that's disappointing,” Dijkstra said. “But sadly expected. As for you, Master Bard, anytime you decided to change your mind, leave word with my attendant here. I could use the services of a good minstrel.”

Jaskier nodded. “I'll keep that in mind.” He ended the song with a soft flourish before offering another short, seated bow. Brett stood beside him as he put the lute in the case and got up himself.

“Until I see you again, Dijkstra,” Brett said, his voice tight. “Next time, I'd like an actual invitation instead of a threat.” He guided Jaskier out of the room and the large man at the door didn't stop them. They went out to the changing room and got dressed again before going outside. Jaskier shivered in the sunshine after sweating in the humid heat of the baths. Brett ushered him along the street down behind the main market square and ducked into a small alley, his steps clipped and hurried. “What the fuck were you thinking?” he said as he shoved Jaskier ahead of him. Jaskier stumbled a few steps before getting his balance again. He stopped and turned to glare at Brett.

“Is Essi in danger because of you?”

Brett stopped short and blinked at him. “What?”

“Will Essi be in danger because of her ties to you? Will Dijkstra go after her? Will somebody else?”

“You're a hypocrite Jaskier.”

“So that's a yes, then.” Jaskier paced away a few steps before coming back to him. “She is my oldest friend. For a long time, she was my _only_ friend. If she gets into trouble-”

“The way you get into trouble because of Geralt?”

“I made my choice, knowing the risks. Geralt is a fucking Witcher, and I knew that before I even met him. Does Essi even know what you do, or does she think you're just a caravan escort?”

Brett seethed and looked away. “It's dangerous for her to know anything.”

“And it may be more dangerous if she doesn't.” 

“You're not her keeper.”

“No. I'm her friend.” Jaskier sighed and leaned back against the rough wall of the alley. “She's like my sister, Brett,” he said quietly. 'I can't. . .I can't lose her. Wait. Where are you going?”

Brett headed down they alley, his frame tense and angry. “I need a fucking drink.”

Jaskier watched him go and didn't follow him. He couldn't remember ever seeing him this angry before. Jaskier stayed slumped against the alley wall and waited for him to come back. But when he didn't, he started to wonder what he should do. The Kingfisher was right around the corner, so he should probably go back there and stay with the girls and Vaz. It wasn't like he could go talk to Hoorn by himself. What could he do on his own? Ask him nicely to let Hattori open up shop again? He chuckled and his laughter turned pained and a bit manic as stress flooded him again. He put his hand over his mouth to stifle and sound and took a deep breath through his nose. Getting hysterical wouldn't help anyone.

He took several deep breaths before moving over to an old crate where he sat and took his lute out. He started to play and closed his eyes, singing softly about freedom and choice. He felt a little trapped right now, despite the fact that he was alone outside. Geralt was gone, and Brett had walked off without him. Vaz was injured and the Essi was holed up with Shani watching over him. And Jaskier was playing his lute in some back alley in the city feeling lost and alone.

“You play beautifully.” The man's voice was rich and cultured with a slight accent.

Jaskier opened his eyes to see a stranger dressed in intricately woven black leather trousers and an ornate, embroidered red vest with gold stitching. The white shirt beneath had loose puffy sleeves that were gathered at the wrist. The laced collar was open, and there was a large, round medallion hanging in the hollow of his throat that had a nine pointed star on it. It almost looked like it was made of clay. Jaskier had already had bad luck once with a stranger complimenting his music. He didn't need to repeat the experience. 

“Thanks,” he said as he put the lute in the case and slung it over his shoulder. He needed to get back out to the main street, preferably in an area that was full of people. The man walked at his side, seemingly unperturbed by his sudden departure and lack of manners.

“My name is Jan Kowal, and I heard you playing the other night at the Seven Cats Inn and again in the baths just now.”

“John Smith? Really? Try again.” It certainly wasn't the worst made up name Jaskier had heard, but seriously. He needed to come up with something better than that. There was something a little unnerving about the man. But Jaskier couldn't see any kind of illusion, so if he was hiding something, he was extremely good. He wasn't anything like the Katakan.

Jan chuckled. “True, it's not my real name, but you wouldn't be able to pronounce the real one.” 

“Try me.” 

“Perhaps another time. I came to ask you if you were interested in playing for me. There is a specific quality to your music that I have not heard for a very long time.”

“I'm not taking engagements just now.”

“Do you ever wish you could play for someone who truly appreciates your magic for what it really is? I could help you learn to use it. If you wish.”

Jaskier stopped outside Vivaldi's bank and turned to him. “What do you mean?” he asked, suddenly wary. 

“You heard me. Think about it.”

Jaskier was jostled by someone walking past and he turned to snarl at them. When he turned back to Jan, he was gone. “What the. . .” There was no sign of him on the street anywhere. Creepy. 

He quickly walked across the market square and jogged up the stairs to the door of the Kingfisher. Inside, the midday crowd was loud and it settled him a little to be around so many people. When he got up to his room, Essi and Shani were having something to eat. Vaz was awake and working on a small bowl of soup while Ebren was sitting on the bench by the tub reading a book.

“Jaskier,” Essi said as Jaskier came in and set down his lute. “Where's Brett?”

“Probably at the Golden Sturgeon. He said he needed a drink and he was heading in that direction.”

“But I thought. . .” She stopped and frowned. “Did you give him the speech and piss him off?” Essi asked, her tone low.

Jaskier huffed a sigh and collapsed into one of the chairs by the hearth. 

“What speech?” Vaz asked. 

“The overprotective brother speech,” Essi said, clearly angry.

“It's not what you think,” Jaskier told her, his voice tired. “Things are a mess right now.”

“Just stay put for now then,” Vaz said, sounding equally tired. “When will Geralt be back?”

“Four days, minimum,” Jaskier grumped. If he came back at all. Who knew what would happen to him in Rinde. “I wish I could be there, and then I wouldn't have to worry about him.” He felt a slight prickle along his skin and he shivered. What the hell had that been? His eyes suddenly felt heavy and the previous night's poor sleep seem to sneak up and ambush him. “I need a nap.”

“You can go across the hall to our room,” Shani said. “You look like you need some rest.”

“Thanks.” Jaskier took his lute and got up to go across the hall and Essi followed him over. He sat on the bed and held the lute case in his hands. “Please don't be mad at me.”

“Jaskier. I'm not. . .” Essi sighed. “I'm not mad. I'm just frustrated and a little scared.”

“Me too.” 

She came over and sat next to him. “It's one thing to know how dangerous the world can be. It's entirely another to see it first hand.”

Jaskier put his head on her shoulder. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” She leaned her cheek on his hair and put an arm around his shoulders. “Did you actually give him the speech?”

“Well, it was more like a verbal bitch slap, but yeah. It wasn't the way I meant to bring it up.” He didn't mention the conversation with Dijkstra. It was up to Brett to be honest with her, and Jaskier wasn't going to damage whatever there was between them by telling her first. “There's so much unexpected shit happening right now.” He pulled back a little to look at her. “I'm not going to apologize for what I said to him. I could have gone about it a little better, but it needed to be said.”

Essi gave him a flat look an sighed. “He'll come back when he's calmed down. He's probably mad at himself for leaving you behind.” She patted his knee and got up. “It will be okay.”

“I hope so.” 

Jaskier stared at the closed door after she left and the fatigue he'd felt earlier crept up on him. Toeing off his boots, he leaned his lute against the beside table and lay back. His eyes slipped closed and he settled quickly into a deep sleep.

*******

Jaskier found himself in familiar halls again. He'd been here before when he comforted the ashen haired girl. Right now, he heard the thin, ear shattering wails of an infant. He moved toward the suite to find an elaborate cradle sitting under a sparking mobile that was hung with stars. There was a baby crying, its tiny lungs creating a sound that shouldn't have been possible for one so small. Jaskier approached with a wince and rocked the cradle softly while humming. The infant looked up at him with watery green eyes and continued to cry. Somehow he knew with certainty, that this was the ashen haired girl.

Sighing, he carefully picked her up and cradled her against his chest as he started to sing in earnest. Pacing slowly back and forth, rocking her gently, he sang the song his mother had taught him when he was small. It always made him feel better. The baby calmed and snuggled against him as he trailed off into a soft hum again.

“What am I going to do with you?” he whispered to her. Settling in the rocking chair by the fire, he sat and rocked back and forth, slowing his breathing as he listened to the tiny heart beating against his chest. Why did he always end up here? Who was she? Her age seemed to shift and change constantly. Was she real or was she some sort of metaphor about the potential children he may have fathered in Brokilon? He wasn't sure if he'd ever find out the answer.

Jaskier woke and took a shuddering breath. He wondered if he would ever stop having dreams like that one. Sitting up, he scrubbed a hand over his face and looked around. He felt a surge of adrenaline when he realized that this was not Shani and Essi's room at the Kingfisher. Huffing out an irritated breath he stood and pulled his boots on with jerky movements. Just once, he'd like to go to sleep and wake up in the same damned place. Geralt would bitch and complain that he couldn't leave him alone for a single second, like he was the only one that got pissed off when things like this happened. Jaskier looked out the window and saw he was on an upper floor of a house in a town he didn't recognize. Great.

Slinging his lute over his shoulder, Jaskier stomped out into the empty hallway and down the stairs. He felt the prickle of familiar magic in the air and swore. Yennefer. If that bitch thought she could pluck him out of his room whenever she felt like it. . .well. He didn't know what he'd do. She was fucking terrifying. Jaskier followed the trail of magic and threw open a door to a room that had probably been a well appointed sitting room at one time. Right now, all of the furniture was in disarray and positively covered in writhing, mostly naked bodies. The scene before him made the baths in Novigrad seem tame and modest in comparison. 

On the other side of the room, Yennefer presided over the display in a black gown and glittering mask. When she saw Jaskier, she blinked in surprised.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” she asked.

Jaskier paused at her shock. “You didn't bring me here?”

“Why would I want to bring _you_ here, of all people?” she sneered. “You just keep showing up where you're not wanted.”

“So. . .where _is_ here, exactly?” Jaskier asked carefully. “I went to sleep in Novigrad and woke up here.” He had a really bad feeling about this.

Jan's rich voice spoke in Jaskier's ear from where he was suddenly standing behind him. “Welcome to Rinde.”


	23. As You Wish

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone. Thank you for sticking with me this far. It's been a fantastic journey and I'm looking forward to continuing in this universe.

“Oh, for fuck's sake,” Jaskier huffed, throwing his hands up in the air before whirling around. “Doesn't anybody know how to take 'no' for an answer?” He paused for a moment as Jan continued watch him calmly, with a mildly amused look on his face. “Wait. This can't be Rinde. It's a modern city and this place is soaked in magic.”

Jan held up a hand and flicked his fingers, making blue green flames dance along the tips. “It is, isn't it?”

“Well. . .” Jaskier looked helplessly at Yennefer who just stared back at him placidly where she sat on the other side of the room. The mostly naked people continued to copulate enthusiastically in front of him and his body started getting interested despite his frustration. “Can we, um. . .go somewhere else? This is all. . . rather distracting.”

Yennefer sneered again before looking askance at Jan.

“If you would be so kind, my dear. It appears our bard is a bit. . .intimidated.”

“I am _not_ intimidated. It's just very difficult to think clearly when a large portion of the blood in my body had dropped down to my dick.” Jaskier crossed his arms and refused to be embarrassed by the tent in his trousers. With a dismissive roll of her eyes, Yennefer waived a hand.

“Ragamuffin,” she said. 

Everyone in the room suddenly stopped and blinked like they had no idea where they were. Some quickly covered themselves and scurried out of the room while others stretched languidly and left at a much more leisurely pace. A few eyed Jaskier appreciatively on their way out. He frowned. 

“You cast a spell on them? Really?”

“Rest assured that all participants are willing and able,” Jan told him. “This is a place where wishes come true, after all.”

Jaskier narrowed his eyes. Jan had used the word wish before when. . . Jaskier didn't know how long he'd been asleep. It could be the same day, it could be the next. He was too angry and confused to ask. 

“To what do I owe the dubious pleasure of your company?” Jaskier asked. 

“Like I said,” Jan waved his hand and the room reassembled itself between one moment in the next. The furniture was all in place, and there was no sign that there had been more than a dozen people having sex in here a moment before. “Your music is beautiful.” 

Jaskier threw his hands out and suddenly lost his balance as a wash of unfamiliar magic flooded the room before disappearing just as quickly. Jan caught his hand in a gentle grip while laying his palm on his back. Jaskier looked up at him in surprise from where he was bent slightly forward. He caught a glimpse of something huge and powerful. The presence beside him was not a man, Human or otherwise. Jaskier squeezed his eyes shut and focused on breathing.

“What are you?” he whispered.

“Interesting.” Jan guided him over to a deeply cushioned chair and sat him down. “No one else has ever seen through my glamour before,” he murmured.

Jaskier hadn't really _seen_ anything, per se. He'd felt, more than seen, and he had no idea what it was. 

“Are you finished passing out, bard?” Yennefer called from across the room.

“Does this happen often?” Jan asked her.

“Nearly every time I see him.” She held an empty goblet loosely in her hand. “It's one of his charms,” she said dubiously. 

“Oh, fuck off. Seriously,” Jaskier told her as he glared across the room. “Did you invite her too? I'm fairly certain she doesn't have a charming bone in her body.”

Yennefer made a face at him, but said nothing. She stalked out of the room with the goblet as she tried to look as dignified as possible. 

“I had no idea you two knew each other,” Jan said as he settled in a nearby chair and crossed one leg over the other. 

“We have a mutual acquaintance.” Jaskier looked up at the other man who was watching him with an indulgent expression. 

“It wouldn't happen to be Geralt of Rivia, would it?”

Shit. 

Jan's smile widened when he saw Jaskier flinch. “Intriguing. What possible use could a Witcher have for a bard?”

Jaskier looked away, feeling no need to defend himself or his relationship with Geralt. “What do you want?”

“Oh, a great many things. But most of them are out of my reach for the time being. Let's just say that Geralt has an opportunity to provide me an opening to get what I want. I plan to discuss it with him at length when he arrives.” 

“How do you know he's coming here?”

“Because he's been dodging me for decades and last night was the first time he's come within range of one of my spells in years. He'll definitely be coming here.”

Jaskier looked at him in surprise. “You sent the messenger to Novigrad.”

“Indeed. As I am unable to physically leave here, I must send others. Though this one was nearly intercepted by someone else.”

“But I saw you in Novigrad.”

“You saw a projection cast by a crystal. My messenger was outside the bank.” Jan smiled at him lightly as if waiting for him to connect the dots.

The person that had bumped into him outside of the bank just before Jan disappeared. Was he the one who'd stabbed Vaz? “It wasn't Preston, was it?” Jaskier hadn't noticed him since he'd left the Kingfisher the other night.

Jan shook his head. “I'm not familiar with that name.”

“What about Yennefer?”

“What about her?”

Jaskier huffed and pulled the strap of the lute case over his head and set it beside his chair so he could sit back. “Why did she come here?”

“Why does she go anywhere?”

“If you don't know, just say so,” Jaskier said with a shrug, too tired and worried to play along anymore. A sudden gust of wind blew through the room, making the tapestries flap and the candles gutter. Jaskier took a shaky breath as another wash of magic hit him.

“Have a care, Bard. I am more powerful than you can imagine. Though the depth of your magic calls to me, I will not hesitate to snuff it out should you displease me.” There was a cold anger glittering in the depths of Jan's dark eyes, making him look older and much more imposing than his causal posture made him appeared.

“I didn't ask to be here.”

“Oh, but you did,” Jan told him sweetly. “You wished you could be here so you wouldn't have to worry. While I am tied to this place by some very complicated and specific rules, there are certain loopholes I can use to my advantage.”

Jaskier blinked at him. He _had_ wished he could be in Rinde with Geralt, but not like this. And Geralt wasn't even here yet. He didn't like it.

Jan settled himself comfortably in his chair. “Geralt won't be here for another day or two. Until then, I would like you to play for me. I have not come across a true Bard in centuries. Your talents are untrained, but still sweet to the ear.”

“Any requests?” Jaskier asked flatly without enthusiasm. 

“Surprise me.”

Jaskier pulled out the lute and tested the strings before starting to play a few stray notes while he thought of something to sing. He didn't want to play any of his finished songs. Not here. And he had to be careful about where he let himself wander with the music. He wasn't sure if Jan was just trying to intimidate him or if he really could incinerate him on the spot. Jaskier didn't really want to find out the hard way. 

So he sang of waiting for the next day, and the anticipation of a goal long waited for. The longing for release and the patience that prolonged the calm. Jaskier's music wandered despite his attempt to keep it on track. He sang of being lost on a long road that kept changing. About separation that made the heart ache. Fuck, it hurt.

“Enough.” Jan's voice was a little rough. Swallowing hard, he got up and left the room. 

Jaskier stared after him and let his heartbeat slow. Putting the lute in its case, he got up and went cautiously to the door. He didn't see anyone in the hallway as he headed for the nearest door that led outside. Nobody tried to stop him. 

Out on the street, it seemed like business as usual. Rinde had been built on the Pontar river and it seemed prosperous enough. People traveled along the main road, going in and out of various buildings. Nobody appeared to be in distress. It seemed normal. 

Fuck that. 

Jaskier headed for the edge town to the north. He was leaving and heading back to Novigrad even if he had to walk the entire way. He made it all the way to the last building before everything shifted suddenly. Jaskier leaned forward to brace his hands on his knees. When he looked up, he saw the road leading into town. He'd gotten turned around somehow. 

So he started walking out of town again, heading north. But as he passed the last building, everything shifted again. It felt worse this time and nausea churned uneasily in his gut. By the fourth time he tried to leave, he had to sit down on the side of the road. He leaned back against the trunk of a small tree. The signpost across from him pointed to town. Rinde had been painted with gilded, flourishing letters. 

He couldn't leave. 

Was this what Jan meant when he said he couldn't leave here? Maybe this was why nobody returned from Rinde. But how had Jan sent the messenger? Jaskier blew out a tight breath and tried to ignore the cramping in his legs. Every time he crossed the border on the edge of town, a new layer of pain wracked his body. At this point, he wasn't sure he could stand, so he just sat leaning against the tree. 

He wasn't sure how long he sat there, stubbornly refusing the go back to the manor. It was getting dark and thick clouds had rolled in, but even when it started to sprinkle and rain, he didn't get up. Maybe he'd just sit here and wait for Geralt to arrive. Then they'd figure out how to leave this place. 

Jaskier must have dozed because the next thing he knew, there was a shadow standing in the light of the nearby lantern. The rain had stopped and his clothes were damp and clammy. He looked up to see an Elf kneeling at his side.

“Here.” He held out a glass globe containing a reddish, amber fluid. “My name is Chireadan and I'm the healer here. This should help with the nausea.” 

Jaskier accepted the oddly shaped vessel. “What is it?”

“An herbal mixture I've developed to help newcomers.” The Elf grimaced apologetically. “It happens to everyone the first time they try to leave.”

“So it's not just me, then?”

“No, I'm afraid not. Rinde is. . .”

“A magical place where wishes come true,” Jaskier said in a mockingly sweet voice before he drank the potion. It was a little bitter, but the roiling discomfort in his stomach eased almost immediately. 

Chireadan bit back a smile. “I see you've met our benefactor.”

“Benefactor? He's a dick.” And he wasn't human. But he was powerful. 

“I wouldn't say such things in his presence.”

“He's the one who brought me here,” Jaskier huffed. “He'll just have to learn to deal with it.” Within reason. Jan was incredibly powerful, and despite what his friends believed sometimes, Jaskier didn't actually have a death wish.

“Really.” Chireadan sat back, his expression thoughtful. “How do you feel?”

“Better. Thank you,” he said as he handed back the small glass globe. “How long have you been here?”

“Longer than I wish to remember. My cousin opened the inn here decades ago and when I came to visit, I found I couldn't leave.” The Elf shrugged. “But it's not so bad. We're mostly self sufficient and Master Kowal provides anything we can't produce on our own.”

“And the orgies?”

A flush spread across Chireadan's cheeks. “Some have become bored with their everyday lives here and crave. . .diversions.”

Right. Jaskier sat for a moment trying to decide what to do. He looked up when he saw a figure in a black gown coming down the street towards them. When Chireadan saw Yennefer, he scrambled to his feet and sketched a small bow. The flush along his sharp cheekbones deepened and spread down his neck. 

“Good evening Mistress Yennefer.” He mumbled something about needing to go home and nearly ran back into town. Yennefer ignored him and came to a stop in front of Jaskier. 

“What do you want?” he asked her.

“Why are you here?”

“I was brought here by Jan. What's your excuse?”

Yennefer's lips thinned. “Your presence is a complication I don't need.”

“I've been trying to leave all damn afternoon. Just point me in the right direction and I'll go. Every time I pass the last building, I get turned around and I end up back in town again.”

“What do you mean?”

“Can't you feel it?” Jaskier gestured at the town. “This whole place is steeped in magic. Apparently there's a reason that nobody leaves after coming in here.”

Yennefer looked at him for a moment before walking away down the road out of town. She kept walking until she was nearly lost from sight. There was a flash of light and then a portal opened next to Jaskier and Yennefer stepped out beside him with her brows raised expectantly. He frowned up at her. 

“It's not just me,” Jaskier grumped. “Chireadan said it happens to everyone.” 

“Show me.”

“I nearly threw up the last time.” Jaskier wasn't looking forward to trying again. 

Yennefer just waited expectantly and he huffed before getting to his feet. Holding the lute by the strap, he started walking and tried not to wince as the world spun and he ended up on his knees at her feet. He swallowed carefully as his stomach tried to decide if it was going to empty itself or not. 

Yennefer hummed thoughtfully. Jaskier felt her spin the magic to make another portal and he started to panic.

“Wait!” But it opened beneath him and he fell into darkness.

*******

Jaskier woke in the bed he'd found himself in earlier. His head was pounding and his muscles felt like jelly. Sitting up slowly, he sang quietly to himself and felt his head clear. That bitch. He got gingerly to his feet and looked at his clothes. They were water-stained and rumpled from sleeping outside in the rain. He'd have to bring them back to Elihal to be fixed. If he ever got out of here. But he didn't have his pack with him, so no change of clothes. He wished he had something to change into. A pile of pale blue fabric sitting on a chest at the end of the bed caught his eye. He was pretty sure it hadn't been there a moment ago when he first sat up.

Getting up to take a look, he saw it was a doublet and trousers in pale blue. The fabric was patterned with subtle diamonds along the coat and waving pinstripes down the pant legs. The shoulders had paned strips of fabric sewn over a darker lining to create a soft puffed outline. Jaskier had no doubt that it would fit him, but wasn't sure if he wanted to wear it. He sighed. At least he was being given a choice. Jan could have easily redressed him while he was unconscious. He was pretty sure the other man, or whatever he was, didn't really care about Jaskier's consent.

Dressing in the pale blue outfit, he folded the turquoise clothing and set it aside. He'd come back for it later. He shouldered his lute and brought it with him. His stomach was gurgling and if he was stuck here, he needed to eat something. He went downstairs and found his way to the dining room. A long table was laid out with a variety of dishes, all of them steaming gently like they had just been freshly served. Jan sat at the head of the table like he'd been waiting for him. 

“How are you feeling?” the other man asked.

“Annoyed. Why can't I leave?”

“My apologies. It's an unfortunate side effect of my circumstances.” Jan seemed almost genuinely sorry.

“Yennefer had no trouble leaving.”

“She's a sorceress.”

“And I'm a Bard. Magic shouldn't be an issue. I've faced off against her and held my own.” Barely, he thought. But he wasn't going to tell Jan that.

“An untrained Bard who lost consciousness when passing through the event horizon of a portal. Were you in control of your gifts, I doubt that there would be anything keeping you here.”

“So it's my fault. Awesome,” Jaskier said.

“Please. Have a seat.” Jan gestured to one of the many chairs at the table. “I was genuinely interested in hearing your music. You were never meant to be a prisoner here.”

“Sure.” Jaskier sat a couple seats down from him. 

“I assure you that I take captivity very seriously,” Jan said, his tone holding an emotion Jaskier couldn't quite identify. Then the the other man turned to the door and smiled. “There you are, my dear. Please join us.”

Yennefer looked at Jaskier dismissively before taking a seat across the table from him and ignoring him.

“Thank you so much for chucking me through a portal,” Jaskier told her cheerfully. “I just love being rendered unconscious against my will.”

“Had I know you were so sensitive to portals, I still would have done it. There's far less mindless chatter when you're asleep.” She smiled sweetly. 

Jaskier shrugged. “I prefer mindless chatter to arrogant nagging.”

“It seems civility is a thing of the past,” Jan said with a wistful sigh. 

“Oh no. Jaskier said, raising his hands. “I can be civil. To people who deserve it.” He made a face at Yennefer when she glared at him. “Just because you're scary doesn't mean I'm going to kiss your ass. It takes more than power to earn my respect.”

“You say that as if your respect is something worth gaining,” Yennefer said. Jaskier tiled his head a little and studied her. 

“Is disdain part of the curriculum at Aretuza?” he asked. If anything, her expression chilled even further and he sighed. “I'm not actually trying to piss you off. I'm just trying to figure out why you're so angry all the time.”

“You should worry more about yourself.” Yennefer picked up a goblet and drank from it, studiously ignoring him as she did so.

Jaskier picked up his own and tasted a light, sweet wine. Maybe his stay here wouldn't be completely horrible. The table had been laid out with a wide variety of seafood and meat dishes along with rice, grains, and vegetables. Everything was delicious. 

“So. Jan,” Jaskier said as he spread garlic butter on a delicate herbed biscuit and took a bite. “Why are you stuck here?”

Jan smiled. “Such a direct question. I'm afraid I have no equally direct answers.”

“You're not Human.”

“No, I'm not.”

Jaskier nibbled on a prawn that had been broiled in a spicy red sauce before taking a sip of wine. He saw Yennefer's brows crease slightly. She hadn't known Jan wasn't human. Interesting. But she didn't say anything as she cut into a tender piece of beef and took small bites. Jaskier ran through a list of things that could appear human in his head. He didn't think it was an illusion. Jan's form was too solid and it didn't waver when Jaskier looked at him out of the corner of his eye. He could obviously use magic. Several things had appeared rather suddenly and Jaskier had been brought to Rinde from Novigrad while he slept. What could do that? 

He wished he'd paid closer attention to the bestiaries while hanging out in the library in Kaer Morhen. Jaskier blinked when he had that last thought. _Wish._ No. That was ridiculous. It couldn't be. That was a leap of logic even he couldn't make when. . .well. . .maybe. Jaskier looked at Jan in surprise.

“You're a Genie?”

Jan's brows rose, but he nodded. “The proper term is Djinn.”

Yennefer swore. “Fuck.”


	24. A Wish for Peace

“Now, what's your problem?” Jaskier asked Yennefer as she swore and wiped her mouth with a cloth napkin. 

“It can't be you.” Her tone was full of fury and she directed the heat of it at Jan who just returned the look with a bland expression. 

“You seem surprised, and I'm not sure why. It's been a while, Yennefer of Vengerberg, but surly you remember your first stay here.” Jan's tone was patient and just a little condescending.

“How do I undo the wish?” Yennefer's fingers glowed. 

“ _You_ can't,” Jan told her. “That's against the rules.”

“How do you undo it then?”

Jaskier sat quietly and sipped his wine, fascinated by the sudden desperation on the sorceress's face. 

“You really should read the fine print, my dear.” Jan sat back and gently circled a bulbous glass that appeared in his hand, making the brandy inside swirl around the inside curve of it. “You should know how this works by now.”

Yennefer turned on Jaskier with a sneering glare on her face. “The way he dotes on you,” she said. “You must be his master.”

Jaskier choked on his wine and sat there coughing for a moment, struggling to breathe. “W-what?”

“Only a Djinn's master can make the wishes. How many do you have left?”

“I have no idea what you're talking. . .oh, shit. Two, maybe?” Jaskier turned helplessly to Jan and winced. “Or is it just one?” He'd wished to be here and then the clothes had appeared. But he hadn't said anything out loud that time.

“As pleasant as it would be to serve you rather than some of my previous masters, you have no wishes due to you.” 

“But you said. . .”

“I said you wished to be here. I never said I granted the wish because of a magical contract. I do have some free will, after all. As I've said, It has been a long time since I've heard the music of a true Bard.”

“Oh.” 

“Magical Bards are a myth,” Yennefer said, her disdain so thick Jaskier could practically taste it.

Jan laughed lightly and sipped from the brandy glass. “I find it so amusing that a being capable of pulling the power of flames from a hearth and using them to burn down an entire village with her bare hands has difficulty believing something that clearly lies before her. Or do you not believe your own eyes?”

Yennefer glared at Jaskier before flinging her hand out. The candles in the candelabra on the table burned down to nubs suddenly in long drips of molten wax as the flames shot toward Jaskier's face. He threw he hands up and cried out but he didn't get burned. Lowering his fingers from his face slowly, he saw the fire frozen in midair as it stretched across the table towards him.

“Such rudeness at my table,” Jan murmured with a click of his tongue.

“A mage could have evaded that easily,” Yennefer said.

“He's not a mage, he's a Bard,” Jan said patiently as he flicked his fingers and restored the flames to the candles that were once again whole and un-melted. “His magic is far more subtle than such flashy parlor tricks. And ultimately more powerful. Really Yennefer. Are you so petty that you would harm Geralt's paramour out of spite?”

Yennefer's lip curled. “I believe I've lost my appetite,” she said coolly before getting up and leaving the room.

Jaskier sang quietly under his breath to get his heartbeat under control again. It had become an unconscious habit to calm himself when he was nervous. 

“You needn't worry about your safety while you're here. I won't allow her to harm you.” 

Jaskier took another sip of wine. “Thanks, I guess.”

“Has she targeted you before?”

“Sort of. She tried to figure out what my magic did when we first met.” Or more accurately, when she'd first kidnapped him. He'd been attacked at Elihal's shop back in Yspaden a few years ago and Yennefer had barreled into the middle of the fight and taken him somewhere. Jaskier still wasn't sure where she'd kept him been before Geralt had demanded his return. 

“What was she interested in, exactly?”

“My throat had been crushed, but I healed it before she was able to do anything. She wanted to know how I'd done it.”

Jan's eyes glittered with interest. “You have healing abilities?”

“Please don't hurt me,” Jaskier said quickly, not liking the way the other man was looking at him. 

“A little pain would be the most expedient way to demonstrate,” Jan said as he snapped his fingers. Jaskier hissed and clapped a hand to his left bicep.

“Ow!” The sleeve of his doublet had been sliced open, cutting into the flesh beneath. He could feel the warm ooze of blood beneath his fingers. “Son of a bitch!” Jaskier sat back and closed his eyes, struggling to concentrate through the quick slice of pain along his arm. He sang a wordless melody and felt the tingle of magic along his skin. It came to him easier now than it used to, but it was still draining. He flinched back as Jan got up and came over to examine him. 

“Fascinating. Can you heal others?”

“No. It doesn't work.” He wasn't going to let him hurt someone else to test the theory. “I've only been able to heal myself.”

“Hmm. But not without leaving a mark,” Jan said as he traced the thin scar on Jaskier's arm. “A hybrid ability then. Or perhaps you just don't know how to draw from a Source yet,” he said absently as if he were talking to himself.

Jaskier said nothing. He wasn't going to tell him about drawing from himself to heal others or the way he'd drawn energy directly from a storm and channeled lightning. He didn't remember the details anyway. He'd only known because Geralt had told him. And he had no idea what a Source was. With a brush of Jan's fingers against the fabric, the blood was gone and the tear in the fabric repaired. Jaskier fought not to shake. 

“I would like to test the range of your abilities more,” Jan said with that same glitter of interest. Jaskier shrank into his chair and tried not to imagine what he might do to accomplish that. Jan's fingertips brushed over Jaskier's hair briefly before he retreated to the doorway. “But I'm afraid that will have to wait for another time,” Jan said as he paused at the door. “Consider the room in which you awoke yours for the duration of your stay.” 

And then he was gone and Jaskier was alone in the dining room with an empty table. The room looked pristine and he got up from his seat, suddenly uncomfortable. He headed upstairs to the room where he'd been before and sat on the bed. How the hell was he going to get out of here? Geralt wouldn't be here for another day or two. Would he be trapped here too? Or would he be able to break whatever curse was keeping everyone inside the town?

Toeing off his boots and shrugging out of his clothes, Jaskier flopped back onto the bed and stared at the ceiling. He wasn't tired, and he didn't dare sing and draw Jan's attention again. At least he was comfortable, but that was the best that could be said about the situation. Jaskier wondered if this was what his life would become. He was tired of stressful events where he had little control over the situation. He'd probably get blamed for ending up right in the middle again. This is not what he would have chosen when he went into the Wood. He just wanted to sing.

*******

The next morning, Jaskier was up at first light, which was unusual for him. But he wanted to get out of here and the only way he could do that was with Geralt's help. So he grabbed a couple apples from the kitchen and headed to the northern edge of town to wait. He didn't see Jan or Yennefer and didn't bother to go looking for them. Perching on a rock on the side of the road just inside the invisible barrier, he settled with his lute and played to pass the time.

“You're quite talented,” Chireadan said from somewhere to his left. 

Jaskier opened his eyes to see the Elf leaning against a tree on the other side of the road. Judging by the angle of the sun, it was mid morning. 

“Thank you,” Jaskier said as he kept playing. “I'm Jaskier, by the way. Didn't get a chance to introduce myself before we were interrupted yesterday.” 

Chireadan nodded and there was something in his gaze that seemed wary. “It's not often I find a human who can speak Elder so fluently,” he said carefully.

Jaskier sighed. He hadn't been paying attention, but the inflection of the Elf's words held the familiar cadence of Elder Speech instead of Common. “I picked it up as a child.” He left it at that, not wanting to get into the details. 

“Are you going to sit out here all day?”

“I'm waiting for someone. He should be here anytime.”

Chireadan's mouth turned down in an unhappy expression. “Then he'll be stuck here like the rest of us.” 

“Not necessarily.” Jaskier stilled the strings and looked at the Elf. “Why were you so nervous around Yennefer yesterday?”

A ghost of the blush from the day before flushed Chireadan's cheeks and he ducked his head, looking away in apparent embarrassment. “I find that I am a bit flustered around her. When she first came into the village, I went to see what services she was offering. I had no idea that she was a sorceress at first. But when I looked into her eyes . . .” Chireadan glanced up at Jaskier and flushed again. “She is. . .lovely.”

“Sure.” Jaskier's tone was flat.

“You don't think so?” The Elf seemed mildly perplexed by this.

“Awful things can come in lovely packages,” Jaskier said and winced when Chireadan's expression fell. “Sorry for being blunt. I first met her a few years ago and it wasn't exactly a pleasant experience. Every time I see her, she's usually angry.”

“I see.”

“Well. If it makes you feel any better, I don't think she's all bad. Just really grumpy.”

The Elf relaxed a bit and regarded Jaskier for a moment. “So you're a bard?”

Jaskier plucked a couple of strings and grinned at him, though there was no joy in the expression. “Yup.”

“What news of the world do you have? We're a bit isolated here.”

“When's the last time someone new came in?”

“Two years.”

Jaskier whistled. “Hmm. Let me see. I used to live in Lettenhove, and I've only been in the Wood for a little over three years.” He wasn't sure if the Elf knew it was gone now. “Calanthe of Cintra married Eist Tuirseach of Skellige and her daughter Princess Pavetta married Duny of Erlenwald. That was a pretty big deal.”

“Indeed,” Chireadan said. He didn't seem thrilled and Jaskier remembered that Cintra wasn't a favorable place for Elves. 

“I have some tales of monster hunts. My companion is a Witcher,” Jaskier said and watched the Elf's brows rise in surprise. “I don't really have much good news aside from the weddings.”

“Good news can be hard to come by. How about the bad?”

“The Eternal Fire is working their way into Novigrad.”

Chireadan sighed. “It was only a matter of time, I suppose.”

“And Lettenhove has been claimed by the Wood.”

Chireadan looked up at him, startled. “What?”

“The towers have fallen and magic has seeped into the area.” Jaskier slumped into his seat. He was the one responsible, but he wasn't going to tell him that.  
Chireadan considered this for a moment in silence. “The world is changing,” he said quietly.

“Yeah, tell me about it.” Jaskier sat up straight as he caught the faint sound of familiar tack jingling on the air. Chireadan regarded him thoughtfully again. It had probably been too quiet for a Human to hear. The Elf stood and moved forward until he winced from the weight of whatever enchantment held the town captive.

“Ho there, friend,” He called as he held up his hand in greeting. “It's best you keep your distance.” Chireadan tried to warn Geralt away as he came into view. Geralt ignored him and kept riding. 

Jaskier hopped down from the rock to greet him. “Before you say anything, it's not my fault.” 

Geralt brought Roach to a halt and looked down at him with tired eyes, his expression flat yet clearly irritated. “Put your lute with the saddlebags.”

“So here's the thing,” Jaskier said as he put his lute in the case and hooked it to the straps behind the saddle. “I can't actually leave.” He came back around to look up at Geralt where he sat in the saddle. “You see-eeeeee. . . Geralt!” Jaskier found himself hauled up and slung across Roach's withers with the pommel of the saddle digging into his middle. “Really, Geralt. Is this necessary?” He could feel the other man's fingers clenched into the back of his doublet holding him in place across his knees as he started riding again. 

“Since you can't seem to follow directions, I'll need to keep an eye on you.”

“Are you alright?” Chireadan asked Jaskier as he kept pace beside the horse and flicked a nervous glance up at Geralt. “Should I . . . get someone?”

Jaskier sighed heavily and tried to shift into a more comfortable position. “No, it's fine. This is Geralt, my Witcher. And I think he rode here from Novigrad nonstop without sleeping.” He'd certainly made good time, and he was grumpy enough. Jaskier huffed when Roach turned her head to nuzzle his hair. “I'm fine. Thank you for checking,” he told her as he pushed her nose away. “Watch the road, Missie.”

It was a blessedly short ride into the center of town, but when Roach came to a stop at the edge of the town square, Geralt kept hold of Jaskier's doublet when he dragged him off the horse and dismounted. 

“Are you seriously going to hold onto me the whole time you're here?” The only answer Jaskier got was Geralt's grip tightening and the fabric across his shoulders pulling taught. Throwing caution to the wind, Jaskier looked up into his frowning face. “Yennefer is here.”

“Fuck,” Geralt muttered. But he probably already knew. Jaskier could feel that connection between them again, and it seemed stronger than ever.

“That's what I said. She was surprised to see me, but she and Jan seemed to know you were coming.”

Geralt hauled him around to glower directly into his face. “Jan?”

“Jan Kowal,” Jaskier said. “The one who sent the messenger.” When Geralt's expression remained unchanged, he tried again. “The Genie? Or Jinn, or whatever?”

Geralt's face hardened. “Did he hurt you?”

“Not much,” Jaskier admitted, knowing it was useless to hide it. “But he's waaaay too interested in my healing abilities. Stop glaring at me like that, for fuck's sake. My magic is the reason he brought me here. He knows I'm a Bard because he heard me playing in Novigrad.”

Geralt let out a long, defeated sigh. “Playing where? You didn't have any bookings.”

“In the baths for Dijkstra. . .again with the glaring,” Jaskier huffed. “That was Brett's fault. Take it up with him if we ever get out of here. And then I played in an alley when I was having a _moment_ and I was trying to calm down. Jan's messenger was there, I'm pretty sure he's the one who knifed Vaz, and Jan talked to me about it, even though he can't physically leave here, and neither can I and. . . .what now?”

Geralt was looking at him with concern and Jaskier realized he'd started getting a bit shrill toward the end there. 

“Please don't be mad at me,” Jaskier quietly as he blew out a breath. “There's a lot going on. I pissed off Essi back in Novigrad and I have no idea how to fix what's going on here and I really don't know what to do.” The grip on his doublet relaxed and Geralt drew him in against his side. Jaskier wrapped his arms around him and pressed his cheek into the studs on his armor. “You smell like Roach,” Jaskier muttered. “You could use a bath.” 

Geralt tugged his hair lightly. “That's not my most pressing concern at the moment,” he rumbled. 

Jaskier looked up to see Jan watching them from the door of the manor. He turned to Chireadan who seemed a bit confused by all of this. “You might want to keep your distance. This might get weird.” 

Chireadan's brows went up, and he moved back a bit against one of the buildings along the square. But he didn't leave like a sensible person.

“Welcome, Geralt of Rivia,” Jan said as he spread his arms out. “You're an incredibly difficult man to reach.” 

Geralt gripped Jaskier's doublet again and moved him back behind him. “You have a bad habit of taking things that aren't yours.”

“After everything I've given you, still you fight me. You have the power to end this. Tell me what you want.” Jan regarded him coolly. Jaskier wasn't quite sure what he was talking about. 

Yennefer came out of the manor behind Jan and glared at Geralt. “Yes, Geralt. What exactly _do_ you want?”

“Yen. It was an accident. When are you going to stop holding it against me?”

“When I have my freedom again!” she snapped. “I never asked for my destiny to be tied to yours.” She was furious. 

Jaskier looked from Yennefer to Geralt and he could practically see the ties that bound them together like a twisted, glowing rope that writhed like a live thing. It felt like the magic Jan had been using. Jaskier took a shuddering breath. “You're the one with the wishes,” he said to Geralt and heard him rumble an affirmative under his breath. 

“And he has one more he needs to make,” Jan said with a sneer. “So what will it be, Geralt?” There was a heated fervor in Jan's eyes and a brisk wind picked up, blowing dust through the square. The few people that had stopped to watch the exchange scattered, like they knew something bad was about to happen. “I don't care what you wish for,” Jan continued. “I only care that you make the wish.”

“So, Geralt,” Yennefer said with her sickly sweet venom. “What will it be?”

“Yen. It's not that simple,” Geralt growled.

“What could be more simple than making a gods damned wish?” she spat. 

“If I don't do it correctly, it could go wrong. I never wanted what I wished for the first two times.” Geralt's frustration was clear. Aside from his unexplained ties to Yennefer, Jaskier wasn't sure what else he had wished for and how it went wrong. He was almost afraid to ask.

“My patience is waning, Witcher.” Jan's jaw tightened and the wind picked up again, making the trees sway like they were in the middle of a storm. “Perhaps you need some encouragement.”

Jaskier's throat tightened suddenly and he coughed to clear it. “Geralt,” he wheezed as he grasped at the other man's sleeve. Jaskier brought his hand up to his collar to loosen it as he continued to choke. With a bone shuddering heave, he coughed up a mouthful of blood. The taste of copper and bile flooded his tongue as he felt Geralt grasp his hand and try to hold him up. 

“I can help him,” Yennefer offered casually. “Just make the last wish.”

Jaskier wheezed again and glared at her as another fit of coughing dribbled blood down over his chin. His breath was coming in thin, whistling sobs and he couldn't speak anymore. He definitely couldn't sing to fix it. 

“Yen!” Geralt bellowed over the wind.

“Is your pride really worth more than the life of your bard?” she asked him.

Geralt growled as Jaskier sagged to his knees, unable to hold himself up any longer.

“it's such a simple solution, Geralt,” Jan said as he watched Jaskier choke and struggle to breathe dispassionately. 

“I just want some damned peace!” Geralt yelled. 

Three things happened simultaneously:

Jan smiled.

Jaskier sucked in a deep, unhindered breath.

Geralt's hand fell away from Jaskier's shoulder and he collapsed onto his back in a boneless heap. 

“Geralt?” Jaskier asked, his voice small. The wind picked up again like a tornado ripping through the square. It tugged at Jaskier's clothes and whipped his hair into his eyes as he scrambled over to kneel at Geralt's side, desperately feeling for a pulse. The Witcher's eyes were closed and he was so, so still. Jaskier looked up at Jan who was still smiling. “What have you _done_!?”

“There is nothing more peaceful than death,” Jan said calmly with a wicked curl of his lips. “It's a pity we couldn't spent more time together, Bard.” Jan's form dissolved into a cloud of smoke that blew away on the whipping winds that that gave one last gust, and then he was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmmm. I forgot I ended the chapter there. I'm torn between evil laughter and the urge to hide behind something. 
> 
> There's one more chapter to go in this story. It will be posted on Friday and then I will be taking a week off from posting for the holiday. The next story is a shorter entry but it's complete. I will post the first chapter on Monday November 30th. Bookmark the series to get a notification or check back on my page to check it out.


	25. In Destiny's Hands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick reminder that I will be taking a week off from posting. The first chapter of the next story will be posted on Monday, November 30th. Bookmark the series to get a notification or check my profile.

“Geralt?” Yennefer actually sounded worried as she came forward and knelt at his other side.

“He's not breathing,” Jaskier told her, trying not to sound desperate.

“I can see that,” she snapped without looking at him. She held her hands out over Geralt's chest. “Come on, come on.” She bit off the words with a distressed whine as she tried to do something with her magic. Jaskier could feel it curling off of her fingers and surrounding Geralt's body, but it didn't seem to be doing anything. Her eyes were widening in distress as her breathing picked up. “No, no, no. You stupid, stupid, Witcher and your stupid wish. _Please_.” Her hands started shaking with the force of the magic she was trying to cast. “This isn't what I _MEANT_!” she screamed, her voice shrieking harshly in her throat. The magic cut off abruptly and her hands fell limply to her sides. 

“Yennefer. . .” 

Her head snapped up like she was seeing Jaskier for the first time. Scrambling to her feet with tears in her eyes, she flung her hand out to open a portal.

“Yennefer, wait!” Jaskier reached out like he could keep her from going, but she was already gone, her last sob echoing on the still air. He looked back down at Geralt. 

Chireadan was kneeling next to him quietly with a mournful expression on his face. “I'm very sorry,” he said softly.

“No.” Jaskier wouldn't believe it. He felt for a pulse again as his thoughts started racing. “He can't die.” His own heart was pounding hard in his chest with enough force it felt like it must be banging against the inside of his rib cage. Jaskier started chest compressions like Sebastian had shown him back when they were dating, berating himself for not starting immediately after Geralt collapsed. But the quiet Witcher remained still, his body only moving with the force of Jaskier's movements.

“Jaskier-” Chireadan laid his hand gently on Jaskier's arm. “He's gone.”

“NO!” Jaskier turned and screamed in his face as tears started to trail wetly down his cheeks. When he leaned forward over Geralt's body, they dripped down off his chin to land on the Witcher's pale face. But there was no magic resuscitation like In fairy tales, only grief. Jaskier started singing, his voice choked and ugly as he cried. He sang of life and vibrancy and felt his magic rise. His own breath stuttered and his chest felt tight as a light dizziness came over him. He realized that he could make it work. It would be the last thing he ever did, but he could bring Geralt back by giving him his own life. 

For one desperate moment, he considered it. 

But then he stopped, his breath huffing in his throat as he trailed off suddenly. Geralt would be alone again and Jaskier would be dead. It would leave his Witcher in pain and alone. Jaskier felt his heart crumple in on itself inside his chest and he collapsed like his arms wouldn't hold him anymore. He lay on Geralt's still chest and ached because he couldn't hear the slow thump of his heart under his ear.

Jaskier barely recognized the sound of his own voice as he wailed, the sound full of grief and pain. What was he going to do now? It hurt so much. There were so many things he'd meant to do. So many things he'd meant to say. And now he'd never get to do any of it. He barely noticed the wind picking up again. There was a sound on the air, like an infant's thin cry. It sounded vaguely familiar and Jaskier gasped as he felt magic welling up within him that wasn't his own. It burst out of him in a painful pulse, making him scream until he trailed off in a whisper. The force of it left his muscles twitching and his skin tingling like when he'd suffered from magic burn after channeling lightning with his voice. 

And then it was suddenly quiet and still again. 

Jaskier lay on Geralt's chest as his crying faded into tired, hiccuping sobs. He didn't know how long he lay there, but his heart skipped a beat when he thought he heard the thump of Geralt's heart. But it was too quiet. Maybe it was his imagination. And then Geralt's fingers tangled in his hair and tugged. Jaskier sobbed again and pushed himself up on shaking arms. 

“Geralt?” His voice was thick with tears and when the other man's golden eyes blinked open again, the tears started falling freely again. Jaskier had no words as he pressed his face into Geralt's neck and cried again. His whole body shook with it as Geralt's arms came slowly around him and held him close. Geralt awkwardly petted Jaskier's hair. 

“I thought. . .I thought you were gone,” Jaskier sobbed, his voice muffled against Geralt's skin.

Geralt didn't reply, he merely grunted and sat up, pulling Jaskier up with him. He held him at arm's length and brushed his fingertips along Jaskier's throat.

“It's fine,” Jaskier said with a wet sniff. “I'm fine.” 

“How is this possible?” Chireadan murmured. “You were dead.”

Geralt continued looking at Jaskier, his expression unreadable. 

“I didn't. . . I mean, I almost did. It was magic. But I don't think it was mine.” Jaskier stumbled over the words. He wasn't really sure what had happened.

“Yennefer?”

“She left. She thought. . . she thought you were dead. She tried to help. But she took off when we thought you were gone.” Jaskier cupped Geralt's face in his hands and studied him for a moment before leaning in to kiss him gently. Geralt sat passively and when Jaskier pulled back, he looked a little lost. “Geralt. Talk to me.”

Geralt didn't say anything as he sighed heavily, pulling Jaskier into his lap and holding him tightly. He buried his face in Jaskier's neck and inhaled deeply. Jaskier had only seen him do this when he was overstimulated by potions and needed to ground himself. He smoothed his hand over Geralt's hair and held him until they both stopped shaking. 

*******

When they finally stood sometime later, Chireadan stood awkwardly with them. “I'm not sure what to make of this,” he said slowly.

“You can probably leave town now,” Jaskier said. “If you want.” The haze of magic over the area seemed to have dispersed. All he felt was the low level magic that always soaked the Wood.

The Elf blinked at him. “I'm not sure. . .” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I'm not sure what to do now.”

Jaskier shrugged. “Anything you want, I guess.” He turned back to Geralt who still looked unsteady on his feet. “Come on. Let's get out of here.” 

Unsurprisingly, Geralt put Jaskier on the horse first before mounting behind him. Jaskier squeezed Geralt's hand where it pressed tightly against his stomach. “Hang on for a moment,” he said and turned to Chireadan as a thought occurred to him. “Where did you live before you came here?”

“It doesn't matter,” the Elf said, his voice low. “I came to visit my cousin because my home was destroyed.”

Jaskier didn't ask about it. Chireadan said he'd been here for a few decades, so it had probably happened during the Great Cleansing. “There's a group of Elves in Cintra led by Toruviel. If you can find them, they could use the help of a healer.”

“She survived?” Chireadan's face held a painful look of hope and surprise. 

“I just saw her a few months ago. She was a little beat up, but she was okay when I left.” Jaskier wanted to ask him more. If he knew Toruviel, maybe he knew others like Filavandrel. And maybe even his parents. But Geralt was already moving Roach forward. “Tell her Baegblath sent you,” Jaskier called as they rode away toward the northern edge of town. It might piss her off a little, but Jaskier wanted her to know he was thinking about her. And if Chireadan already knew her, it probably wouldn't do much harm.

*******

They continued riding until darkness fell. Jaskier's stomach was rumbling quietly, but he didn't dare ask to stop until Geralt was ready. There was something fragile about the other man and he wasn't sure what to do about it. As they sat by the fire, Jaskier chewed dried meat and bread quietly without complaint. Geralt hadn't said anything all afternoon. It wasn't unusual for him to be this quiet, but there was a tense awkwardness to him that made things uncomfortable. After sitting quietly in the saddle all day, Jaskier couldn't stay silent any longer.

“Did you find what you were looking for in Rinde?”

Geralt was quiet as he stared into the fire. 

“Geralt. . .” Jaskier hesitated. He was really bothered and he hated feeling this unsure. “You're not. . . mad at me, are you?”

At his quiet question, Geralt looked up for the first time since they'd settled for the night and frowned at him. “No. Should I be?”

“Well. You usually get pissed off when I get in the middle of things, especially when you tell me to stay behind.” His reaction to finding Jaskier in Rinde had been fairly standard as such things went. But Geralt was mostly resigned to it by now. He'd grump and glower for form's sake and then things would go back to normal. This reserved quite he'd been displaying today was . . . unsettling. 

“No. I didn't find what I was looking for. I wanted. . .” Geralt trailed off in a sigh. “I wanted to undo the wish that tied me to Yennefer. It was an accident. She was trying to capture the Jinn so she could use its magic. I didn't know what she wanted with it at the time.” He shook his head and tossed a twig into the fire. “It doesn't matter. I was trying to save her life, and now I can't get away from her. We keep running into each other.”

“And she hates it.”

“She hates _me_ ,” Geralt said quietly. 

No. She didn't. Jaskier had seen her panic and distress when she couldn't bring Geralt back. There had been no magic forcing her to feel that kind of anguish. But he didn't think Geralt would be interested in hearing about that right now. He was too maudlin to be able to discuss it rationally.

“Is it still there? The ties between you.” 

“Hn. Yes.” Geralt's voice was quiet and bitter, probably because he knew how angry she'd be.

“How do you feel?” Jaskier asked.

“Like a stranger in my own skin,” Geralt said finally.

Jaskier understood that kind of feeling even if their circumstances were different. When he'd found out that he was really an Elf and not a Human, he'd felt odd. And it had gotten more pronounced when he'd changed himself back to a full blood Elf with his magic. But he wasn't sure what he could do to help. 

“Is there. . .anything I can do?” It was silent long enough that Jaskier didn't think the other man would answer him. But when he did, his voice was soft.

“Sing for me.”

Jaskier blinked at the quiet request. Geralt had never actually asked him to sing before. While he knew that the other man wasn't as bothered by his songs as he said out loud, Jaskier thought it was more of a general tolerance than a preference. Pulling out his lute and setting his fingers on the strings, he considered what song to sing. Instead of picking something he'd written, he let his heart guide him. Jaskier sang of love and belonging, of soft acceptance and a feeling of home no matter where you were. He heard Geralt sigh heavily as his eyes slipped closed where he knelt beside the fire. 

Geralt looked like he was getting ready to meditate for the night. Jaskier wished the other man could get some real sleep for once. If he'd been having trouble for as long as he said, it was a wonder he hadn't gotten sick or worse. He'd hidden it well. 

Jaskier continued to play as he hummed along, letting the music flow where it would. When Geralt's breathing evened out to the deep rhythms of mediation, Jaskier trailed the notes off quietly and put his lute away. He was exhausted himself and he needed sleep. His eyes felt gritty and dry after crying so hard. Laying down on Geralt's bedroll, he tried to relax. He lay half awake for a while and fought not to sigh. It was dark and quiet in the forest with just the faint shadows created by the dying embers of the fire to keep him company.

It was sometime later when Jaskier heard the creak of leather as Geralt removed his armor and moved closer, the light scuff of his boots the only sound in the still night. Geralt hovered over Jaskier where he lay for a moment, like he wasn't sure he was welcome until Jaskier held his arms out. Geralt nudged his knees apart to crawl up and lay with his head on Jaskier's chest. His arms clutched at Jaskier's torso like he was afraid he'd disappear. Jaskier shifted under him to settle into the bedroll, comfortable with the other man's weight as he ran a hand lightly over his hair. 

It was so rare for the Witcher to ask for anything. Jaskier would give him anything he wanted. Geralt rumbled out a long sigh, hugging him tighter. Hooking an ankle over the back of one of Geralt's thighs, Jaskier cradled him against his body and sighed deeply before finally going to sleep. 

*******

The next morning, Geralt seemed more like himself and by the time they reached Novigrad, it was almost like nothing had happened. When they reached their room at the Kingfisher, everyone was bursting with questions. 

“Where have you been?” Essi asked as she came over and wrapped her arms around him. “I went to get you for dinner and you were gone.” 

“Sorry.”

She pulled back and looked at him. “You didn't leave because I was angry with you, did you?”

“No. It's a long story.”

She pulled back and plucked at his bloodied shirt with a look of distress.

“I'm fine, it's fine. I'm not hurt anymore,” he said. But he'd have to ask Elihal to get the blood out of his clothes again.

Vaz was settled carefully in a chair by the fire and Brett was sitting next to him with a miserable look on his face.

“Listen, Jaskier-” Brett began.

“You don't have to apologize, Brett. It wasn't your fault.”

“If I hadn't walked off and left you. . . “

“You probably would have been knocked unconscious or worse, and I would still have been gone. It was magic and there was nothing you could have done. I'm fine. Geralt's fine.”

“So you didn't make it to Rinde, then,” Vaz said as he shifted in the chair trying to find a comfortable position. 

“Are you asking for yourself or your boss?” Jaskier asked with a raised brow.

“He's not our boss,” Brett said with a frustrated huff. He glanced at Essi and she came over to slide her hand across his shoulders and lean against his chair. Brett wrapped an arm around her waist. “We talked,” he said quietly. “You were right, and for that, I'm sorry.”

“Okay, that I'll accept,” Jaskier said with a nod. “And while I'm not going to apologize for what I said, I could have been less angry about it. As for Rinde,” he said to Vaz. “Come find me when Stellan gets back and I'll tell all of you. Until then, it doesn't matter. You guys can go see it for yourself and talk to anyone that decided to stick around. It's as safe as any place now, and you can get in and out easily.”

Brett and Vaz exchanged a confused glance. Vaz opened his mouth and thought better of it before getting carefully to his feet. 

“Well. Now that you've reappeared and you're fine, I'm going to go.”

“Go where?” Jaskier asked him. “You can stay as long as you need.” Vaz had once told him he had a small homestead in Redania but that was a couple days ride from here and he didn't look well enough to travel that far.

“Ebren lives in the city. I'm going to stay with him and get out of your hair.”

“And what does Shani think about that?” Jaskier watched him move toward the door with small, careful steps.

“I think he needs to stay in bed for a couple more days before tromping around the city, but it's not far,” Shani said from the doorway. “He should be fine as long as he doesn't do anything stupid on the way there.”

“I'll get him there in one piece and keep an eye on him,” Brett said. 

“Thanks, mom,” Vaz muttered.

Brett huffed. “Remember Tridam?”

“You're not still sore about that, are you?”

“You tied me to the bed, you dick.”

“Because you kept trying to get up and run around on a broken ankle. I didn't actually break any bones,” Vaz protested.

“Doesn't matter. You're going to rest until you're healed up even if I have to lock you in Ebren's basement.” 

“Oh, good grief.” Vaz sighed as Brett fell in beside him. As they reached the door, Brett turned back to Jaskier.

“You don't have to worry about Hoorn anymore. He's seen the error of his ways and decided to pack up shop and go somewhere else.”

Jaskier raised a brow. “Just like that?”

“Just like that,” Brett said with a viscous twist of his lips. “A little negotiation goes a long way to work off frustration.” With that, he led Vaz out into the hall where they continued to bicker good-naturedly. There was a tension beneath the fondness, as it was most like a coping mechanism for stress and fatigue. Brett and Vaz had worked together for a long time and they knew how to handle themselves. They'd get through it together. As Vaz took the first step downward, he swore quietly under his breath. Jaskier winced in sympathy. There were a lot of stairs.

Essi came back over and hugged Jaskier again. “Is it always like this for you?”

Jaskier was going to say no, but Geralt just eyed him and raised a brow. Sighing he hugged her back. “More than I'd like. But I get through it. Somehow.”

She pulled back and looked at him thoughtfully. “We just had the linens changed and I can have Sebastian fill the tub.”

“Is it that bad?” Jaskier resisted the urge to sniff himself. A few days of sleeping in his clothes had taken their toll.

Essi wrinkled her nose and grinned. “Nothing a quick soak won't fix. Now that things have calmed down, Shani and I can leave for Oxenfurt. There's a mummer troupe that's leaving the city in a couple days and we can travel with them.”

“Okay. I fully intend to come see one of your lectures. Until then, I'm not sure what I'll be doing. We'll probably be here for at least a few more days.”

“I'll see you later then.” She kissed his cheek and then left with Shani. It was late afternoon now, and Jaskier was tired. 

*******

A short while later, Sebastian brought up a tray of food, including roast chicken, herbed vegetables, a rice dish Jaskier didn't recognize, and a pitcher of beer. 

“I thought you might be hungry for more than trail food after your trip,” he said.

“Thanks, Seb.”

“Are you okay? Essi was really freaked out the other day and nobody could find you.”

“Yeah, I'm fine.” Jaskier shrugged. “Shit happens.” 

Sebastian eyed him like he wasn't quite convinced, but he relented and said he'd fill up the tub in a bit. By the time Jaskier and Geralt had eaten and they were sitting in the tub together, Jaskier was exhausted. He sat curled up against Geralt's chest with his ear pressed to his skin so he could hear the slow, steady beat of his heart. Geralt rested his chin on Jaskier's wet hair and sighed.

“You died yesterday,” Jaskier said quietly. It was the first time he'd said it out loud since it happened and his stomach flipped uncomfortably. 

“Hn.” 

“I almost gave you everything I had to bring you back.”

Geralt's arms tightened around him. “It would have killed you. Please. . . don't ever do that.”

“I didn't. . .” A lump formed in Jaskier's throat. “I thought about it. But. . .” He took a quavering breath. “I didn't want you to be alone again.” 

Geralt pressed his lips to Jaskier's hair before nudging him to get up so he could dry them off. When they were tangled up in bed together, Jaskier pressed in close and tried not to cry again. He was startled to hear a low, rumbling sound against his ear. Geralt was humming. Jaskier nearly laughed when he recognized the melody of 'Sunshine at Midnight.' It was soft and lilting and with Geralt's low voice, it took on a comforting tone that made the last of the tension slide out of Jaskier's body. Snuggling closer, he sighed and found that he felt a little better.

Tomorrow, they'd talk to Hattori and set up his smith to repair Geralt's swords. Then they'd moved on to Oxenfurt before going back home to Kaer Morhen. He tried not to think about the children they'd left behind. Jaskier was saddened by the thought that he'd might never see the dryads again. And while Geralt had said he'd never set foot in Cintra again, Jaskier had a feeling that he'd see the palace again someday even if Geralt didn't come with him. Destiny had done stranger things and it didn't seem to care what anyone thought. Jaskier didn't think he was foolish enough to ignore it completely or try to defy it. He would lay himself in Destiny's hands and discover what it had in store for him one way or the other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Transition stories are haaaaard. Between the end of this one, and the beginning of the third long installment, I've struggled a bit with pacing and the story in general. There are a lot of moving parts here and I hope they all came together as well as I intended.


End file.
